THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Wilmer  Shields 


AN  AMERICAN 


BY 

BELLE   WILLEY  GUE 


BOSTON 
RICHARD   G.  BADGER 

THE   GORHAM    PRESS 


COPTBIGHT,    1921,    BY    BELLE  WlLLET   GuB 

All  Rights  Reserved 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 
The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


35/3 


TO    THE     MEMORY     OF    HIM     WHOM    WE    ALL     DELIGHT 

TO   HONOR   AS    FIRST    IN    PEACE   .    .    .    FIRST   IN 

WAR   .    .    .   AND   FIRST   IN  THE   HEARTS 

OF    HIS     COUNTRYMEN    .    .    . 

GEORGE   WASHINGTON 


829250 


AN  AMERICAN 


INTRODUCTION 

There  are  many  characteristics  that  are  essential 
to  true  Americanism;  among  these,  none  is  more 
prominent  than  an  inborn  desire,  not  only  to  obtain 
personal  liberty,  but,  also,  to  see  justice  done  to 
others. 

We,  as  Americans,  say,  with  loving  pride,  that  we 
are  citizens  of  that  one  fair  land  whose  single  boast 
has  always  been  that  it  was  free. 

Oppression  of  the  weak  and  ignorant,  by  those 
who  are  wiser  and  stronger  than  they,  has,  always, 
aroused  in  us  pronounced,  and,  often,  openly  ex 
pressed,  indignation.  More  than  once,  have  we,  as 
a  nation,  arrayed  ourselves  upon  the  side  of  the 
down-trodden  and  pitiful,  and,  in  every  such  in 
stance,  we  have  greatly  increased  and  enhanced  the 
well-being  of  those  whose  cause  we  have  espoused. 

We  have  never  gone  out  of  our  way  to  look  for 
trouble,  being  more  inclined  to  attend  to  our  own 
affairs  than  to  oversee  those  of  our  neighbors,  and, 
yet,  when,  repeatedly,  gross  acts  of  injustice  and 
cruelty  have  been  forced  under  our  observation,  we 
have,  at  times,  been  aroused  to  a  state  of  what  we 
have  honestly  believed  to  be  righteous  indignation, 

5 


6  An  American 

and,  in  these  circumstances,  we  have  conducted  our 
selves  in  accordance  with  our  ability  and  the  fervor 
of  our  convictions. 

Prior  to  the  evening  of  February  fifteenth,  eigh 
teen  hundred  and  ninety-eight,  our  relations  with 
the  government  of  Spain  were  amicable;  while  we, 
as  a  people,  sympathized,  to  some  extent,  with  the 
uprisings  of  native  Cubans,  yet,  those  who  were  at 
the  head  of  our  national  affairs  did  not,  in  any  in 
stance,  uphold  or  palliate  the  unlawful  acts  of  the 
insurrectionists;  but,  during  the  hours  of  darkness 
of  that  never-to-be-forgotten  night,  a  dastardly  and 
totally  inexcusable  deed,  in  spite  of  the  recent  re 
newal  of  our  friendly  intercourse  with  the  Spanish 
government,  made  of  that  nation  a  foe  to  be  con 
tended  against  with  all  the  might  that  was  in  us. 

While  our  only  object,  in  the  beginning  of  the 
Spanish-American  war,  was  to  teach  the  Spaniard 
the  lesson  he  had  so  richly  deserved  to  learn,  at  the 
same  time,  as  the  results  of  autocratic  misrule  were 
brought,  more  and  more  closely,  under  our  direct 
observation,  we  took  much  honest  pride  in  the  re 
flection  that  we  were  not  only  resenting,  as  became 
free  and  enlightened  men  and  women,  an  injury  to 
our  own  well-beloved  country,  but  that  we  were,  at 
the  same  time,  giving  to  a  people,  whose  necks  were 
raw  and  bleeding  from  the  yoke  of  a  tyrannical  exer 
cise  of  absolute  power,  an  opportunity  to  throw 
off  that  yoke,  and  become,  in  due  time,  a  self- 


An  American  7 

governed  and  a  self-respecting  and  an  independent 
nation. 

Our  short  and  fiery  encounter  with  Spain  demon 
strated,  as  many  years  of  unbroken  peace  and  pros 
perity  had  not  done  and  never  could  do,  the  invinc 
ibility  of  American  arms,  and  the  unexampled  super 
iority  of  American  daring,  devotion,  inventive  genius 
and  self-adjusting  prowess;  it  was  supposed  that  we 
had  a  very  inadequate  naval  equipment,  and  that  our 
standing  army  was  very  small,  besides  being  poorly 
trained;  in  spite  of  this  widely  spread  supposition, 
our  troops  won  many  brilliant  victories  upon  the 
sea  as  well  as  on  the  land. 

The  same  spirit  that  saved  the  day  for  freedom 
and  the  right  at  Bunker  Hill  and  Bennington  ani 
mated  the  descendants  of  those  gallant  and  intrepid 
warriors,  who,  soon  after  the  heroic  birth  of  our 
Republic,  defended  the  cause  they  deemed  to  be  a 
sacred  one  with  all  that  they  held  dear,  when  they, 
too,  went  to  meet  the  carefully  trained  and  richly 
caparisoned  phalanxes  of  those  who  bowed  their 
heads  and  bent  their  suppliant  knees  unto  an  earthly 
king. 

An  American  volunteer  is  as  nearly  unconquerable 
as  any  merely  human  being  can  ever  really  be;  his 
whole  being  is  entirely  devoted  to  the  principle  for 
the  vindication  of  which  he  is  about  to  enter  into 
bodily  combat;  he  is  not  hampered  or  bound  down 
by  anything  that  does  not  meet  with  the  approval 


8  An  American 

of  his  own  conscience;  physically,  mentally,  and 
morally,  he  is  the  equal  of  any  enemy  against  whom 
he  may  be  pitted;  above  him  there  floats  a  flag  that 
has  never  been  defeated,  behind  him  are  glorious 
deeds  of  valor  that  are  well  worthy  of  emulation, 
and  before  him  are  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  those 
who,  with  their  feet  firmly  planted  upon  solid 
ground,  practical,  energetic  and  capable,  yet,  al 
ways,  move  among  their  fellows,  seeing  visions, 
dreaming  dreams. 

Shortly  before  the  beginning  of  the  Spanish- 
American  war,  there  were  some,  across  the  water, 
who  dared  to  complacently  imagine  that  the  glowing 
spark  of  patriotism,  implanted  in  the  breast  of  every 
true  American  at  the  time  of  his  birth,  had  lost 
its  kindling  power;  those  who  were  depending  upon 
this  erroneous  idea  must  have  had  their  complacency 
somewhat  rudely  shaken  when  it  became  known,  all 
over  the  world,  that,  within  ten  days  after  President 
McKinley  issued  a  call  for  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  thousand  volunteers,  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  eager  patriots  answered  to  that  call,  offer 
ing  their  energies  and,  if  needs  be,  their  lives,  to 
the  service  of  the  land  they  loved  and  honored. 

After  thirty-three  years  of  peace,  the  fighting  men 
of  America  buckled  on  their  armor,  bade  a  tearful 
farewell  to  their  homes  and  families,  and,  determined, 
enthusiastic  and  buoyant,  went,  blithely,  forward  to 
meet,  and  conquer,  a  foreign  foe;  there  was  not  one 


An  American  9 

among  these  who  did  not  realize  and  consider  the 
seriousness  of  the  enterprise  he  had  started  out  up 
on,  yet  neither  was  there  one  who  did  not  add,  in 
every  way  within  his  power,  to  the  light-hearted 
joyousness,  and  gentle,  childish  humor,  with  which 
our  fearless  and  devoted  uboys"  undertook  to  secure 
the  freedom  and  general  well-being  of  the  Island 
people,  as  well  as  to  resent  the  insult  that  had  been 
offered  to  our  own  country. 

The  central  figure  of  the  Spanish-American  war, 
from  its  hasty  inception  until  its  brilliant  and  trium 
phant  close,  was  that  of  a  gallant  gentleman, 
mounted  on  a  high-lifed  horse  ...  as  sternly  devoted 
to  principle  and  duty  as  any  Puritan  had  ever  been, 
as  full  of  the  bounding  joy  of  life  as  any  boy  who 
followed  him,  leader,  comrade,  friend  and  brother, 
fearless,  resourceful,  primitive,  refined,  highly  edu 
cated,  yet  as  simple-hearted  as  an  innocent  child, 
bold,  yet  cautious  and  careful,  unselfish,  yet  richly 
endowed  with  worldly  wisdom,  respected  almost  to  the 
height  of  reverence,  yet  looked  upon  as  a  cheery, 
helpful  companion,  by  those  with  whom  he  was  most 
closely  associated  .  .  .  THEODORE  ROOSE 
VELT  ...  a  typical  American,  using  that  word  in 
its  widest  and  loftiest  sense. 

After  the  close  of  our  struggle  with  Spain,  we 
discovered  that  we  had  not  only  given,  but,  also, 
derived,  many  benefits  as  the  results  of  that  short, 
but  decisive,  conflict;  we  had  acquired  considerable 


10  An  American 

territory  over  which  to  extend  the  advantages  to  be 
gained  from  our  educational  and  commercial  insti 
tutions;  we  had  come  into  such  close  contact  with 
the  people  of  these,  and  adjacent,  territories  that 
we  were  enabled  to  understand  their  needs  and  their 
desires,  more  fully  than  we  could,  otherwise,  have 
done ;  we  had  presented  to  the  powers  ruling  the  Old 
World  an  object  lesson  as  to  the  people  of  the  United 
States  of  America  being,  at  any  and  all  times,  and 
under  every  possible  circumstance,  fully  able  to  take 
care  of  themselves,  as  well  as  all  that,  intrinsically, 
belongs  to  them;  we  had  set  before  the  mighty  na 
tions  of  Europe  an  example  of  the  proper  attitude 
of  the  strong  toward  the  weak;  we  had  bound  to 
gether,  in  a  common,  just  and  righteous  cause,  all 
factions,  all  clans,  all  religions,  and  all  parties,  in 
short,  we  had  bound  together  the  entire  population 
of  our  well-beloved  country,  and  in  such  a  way  that 
the  bonds  were  indissoluble,  unbreakable,  and  perma 
nent. 

While  we  are,  above  all  things,  a  peaceful  and  a 
law-abiding  people,  yet  we  not  only  can,  but  always 
will,  defend  our  altars  and  our  homes  against  any 
harm  that  may  be  threatened  to  them;  while  we  do 
not  seek  an  encounter  with  any  government  other 
than  our  own,  yet  at  the  same  time,  we  are  not 
afraid  to  meet  any  nation  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
in  open  combat,  giving  our  enemy  the  privilege  of 


An  American  11 

selecting  his  own  weapons  and  following  out  his  own 
ideas  as  to  legitimate  warfare. 

The  blood  of  the  sturdy  and  militant  Anglo- 
Saxon,  flowing,  now,  in  Yankee  veins,  is  richer  and 
more  life-supporting  than  it  was  before  the  May 
flower  landed  her  precious  freight  of  human  strength 
and  more  than  human  aspiration  upon  Plymouth 
Rock. 

All  the  fond  hopes  and  all  the  high  ambitions,  all 
the  daring  and  all  the  deep  devotion,  all  the  practical 
achievements  and  all  the  airy  dreams,  of  their  re 
vered  forefathers,  are,  now,  alive  and  potent,  al 
though,  it  may  be,  hidden,  in  the  breasts  of  all  my 
fellow-countrymen. 

If  all  the  titles  that  have  ever  been  bestowed  by 
human  beings  upon  each  other  ...  all  the  names 
that  indicate  the  possession  of  wealth  or  fame  or 
place  or  power  upon  the  earth  .  .  .  should  be  dis 
played  before  my  eyes,  and  I  be  asked  to  select  but 
one  among  them  all  to  be  the  one  by  which  I  would 
be  known,  I  would  without  a  moment's  hesitation, 
choose  AN  AMERICAN. 


PLOT 

Ruth  Wakeficld,  as  the  daughter  of  the  United 
States  Consul  to  Cuba,  has  lived  in  a  beautiful  home 
which  her  father  prepared  for  his  family  on  a  height 
above  Havana  harbor  since  early  childhood.  Hav 
ing  lost  both  her  natural  protectors  .  .  .  her  par 
ents  .  .  .  through  earthly  death,  she  has  been  much 
alone  with  trusty  servants,  as  she  has  found  little 
companionship  among  the  natives  of  Cuba.  How 
ever,  she  has  found  a  highly  respected  friend  in 
Father  Felix,  Priest  of  the  village  of  San  Domingo ; 
to  him  she  has  confided  her  great  anxiety  concern 
ing  some  prisoners  confined,  ex  communicado,  in 
the  village  jail,  at  the  end  of  the  prado,  or  central 
park  of  the  village. 

"The  Lady  of  the  mansion  on  the  hill,"  as  she  is 
known  among  the  villagers,  has  not,  though,  told  the 
Priest  her  real  reason  for  wishing  the  freedom  of 
the  political  prisoners.  Victorio  Colenzo  is  a  hand 
some  but  unscrupulous  fellow  of  mixed  blood,  being 
part  Spanish  and  part  Cuban;  he  has  found  the 
lonely  American  girl  and  has  courted  her  with  such 
dash  and  apparent  sincerity  that  she  has  married 
him  secretly,  not  even  informing  Father  Felix  of  her 

13 


14  An  American 

union  with  the  attractive  stranger.  This  man  is 
among  the  political  prisoners  and  it  is  to  free  him 
from  bondage  that  Ruth  Wakefield  has  furnished 
Father  Felix  with  means  with  which  to  overpower 
and  overawe  those  who  have  him  in  charge.  Ruth 
Wakefield  is  herself  deceived,  for  in  the  village  is  a 
girl,  named  Estrella,  whose  lover  Victorio  Colenzo 
is  known  to  be  by  her  associates,  among  whom  is 
another  of  her  lovers  .  .  .  Manuello  ...  a  native 
Cuban.  This  man  is  also  in  the  San  Domingo 
bastile.  Father  Felix,  at  the  head  of  a  procession 
of  his  followers,  breaks  into  the  jail  and  confronts 
the  keepers  with  a  crucifix  which  he  holds  before 
them,  commanding  them  to  release  the  prisoners; 
superstitious  terror  finally  induces  them  to  yield  to 
his  demands;  in  the  confusion,  Manuello  contrives 
to  sever  the  handsome  head  of  Victorio  Colenzo  from 
his  strong  and  manly  body,  so  that  his  corpse  is 
found  when  the  doors  are  finally  thrown  open  to  the 
people;  Estrella  finds  this  body  and  weeps  above  it. 
Father  Felix  meets  Ruth  Wakefield  by  appointment 
to  report  as  to  what  he  has  done,  and,  in  this  man 
ner,  she  discovers  the  perfidy  of  her  so-called  hus 
band.  She  confesses  the  truth  to  Father  Felix  who 
sympathizes  deeply  with  her  as  he  knows  her  to  be 
innocent.  She  visits  the  morgue  and  meets  Estrella 
whom  she  befriends  and,  eventually,  adds  to  her 
household.  She  has  among  her  servants,  a  unique 
character,  named  Mage,  who  has  been  her  nurse  in 


An  American  15 

babyhood  and  who  is  always  faithful  to  her  in  her 
own  strange  way;  this  old  woman,  throughout  the 
entire  twenty-one  chapters  of  this  story,  continues 
to  perform  unexpected  and  startling  deeds. 

Old  Mage  accompanies  her  dear  young  lady  when 
she  goes  to  San  Juan  and  is  stationed  not  far  from 
the  battlefield  of  San  Juan  Hill.  Here,  as  elsewhere, 
she  continues  to  exhibit  her  own  individual  character 
istics  as  her  central  and  almost  sole  idea  is  to  pro 
tect  and  assist  Ruth  Wakefield,  whom,  although  she 
regards  her  with  unlimited  respect  and  is  entirely 
devoted  to  her  interests,  she  still  thinks  of  as  the 
small  child  she  loved  before  they  landed  upon  the 
Island  of  Cuba ;  realizing  how  different  she  is  from 
those  around  her,  only  increases  the  worship  of  her 
faithful  attendant,  who,  on  the  other  hand,  does  not 
hesitate  to  use  language  that  will  express  what  she 
wishes  those  whom  she  is  addressing  to  fully  under 
stand. 

Manuello  has  a  primitive,  passionate,  unbridled 
and  selfish  nature ;  he  is  wildly  in  love  with  Estrella 
and  because  she  has  selected  another  lover  he  has 
committed  murder;  with  this  man  out  of  his  way,  he 
hopes  to  succeed  with  Estrella  and  goes  to  her  in 
timate  friend,  Tessa,  to  find  out  how  she  actually 
feels  about  the  death  of  her  lover,  Victorio  Colenzo ; 
Tessas  secretly  adores  Manuello;  she  is,  also,  a 
native  Cuban,  but  her  nature  is  more  sluggish  than 
that  of  Manuello  and  she  has  a  dog-like  affection 


16  An  American 

for  Estrella,  who  has  become  separated  from  her 
own  family  as  a  child  and  is  a  member  of  the  house 
hold  of  Manuello,  being  known  as  his  half-sister 
among  the  villagers ;  the  handsome  peon  makes  love 
to  little  Tessa  but  she  is  loyal  to  Estrella  and  does 
what  she  can  to  contribute  to  her  happiness,  al 
though,  when  Manuella  becomes  a  fugitive  and  has 
been  wounded,  she  ministers  to  him  in  a  deserted 
cabin  up  among  the  hills  where  it  is  almost  entirely 
hidden  in  a  jungle  of  weeds  and  rank  vegetation. 
This  cabin  is  the  scene  of  many  pitiful  endeavors 
on  the  part  of  little  Tessa  who  resists  the  desires 
of  Manuello  to  make  her  his  mistress  although  she 
dearly  and  devotedly  loves  him.  Here,  at  one  time, 
she  is  secretly  followed  by  Estrella  who  is  led  to 
suspect  some  secret  by  Tessa's  actions ;  Estrella  in 
forms  Father  Felix  of  the  situation.  Tessa,  in  one 
of  her  struggles  with  Manuello,  has  wounded  him 
in  one  cheek  with  a  knife  which  she  happened  to  have 
in  her  hand.  Father  Felix  visits  the  hut  and  Man 
uello,  after  severely  wounding  poor  little  Tessa,  so 
that  she  is  unable  to  leave  the  place,  disappears, 
but  turns  up  again,  after  the  battle  of  Camp 
McCalla  in  a  temporary  hospital  where  Ruth  Wake- 
field  and  Estrella  are  acting  as  nurses.  Old  Mage 
takes  a  hand  in  this  affair  and  so  frightens  Manuello 
that  he  escapes  from  the  hospital  although  he  is 
wearing  many  bandages,  and,  painfully,  but  deter 
minedly,  reaches  the  deserted  hut  where  he  hopes 


An  American  17 

to  hide  until  he  has  recovered  from  his  wounds.  As 
he  approaches  the  hut  he  realizes  that  someone  is 
within  it  and  looks  through  a  small  window,  seeing 
Tessa  lying  on  the  rude  bed  she  originally  prepared 
for  him,  and,  beside  her,  kneeling  on  the  floor,  Father 
Felix  who  has  found  the  weak  and  suffering  girl  and 
is  engaged  in  prayer ;  Manuello  breaks  into  the  cabin 
and  attempts  to  thrust  the  Priest  aside  so  that  he 
may  wreak  his  vengeance  on  the  helpless  woman. 
Father  Felix,  however,  proves  to  be  a  worthy  an 
tagonist  and  does  not  hestitate  to  use  his  strength 
in  the  defense  of  the  innocent,  even  though  it  becomes 
necessary  for  him  to  seriously  injure  the  young  man 
who  is  like  a  wild  beast  foiled  of  its  prey.  This 
struggle  in  the  deserted  hut,  with  the  wounded  girl 
looking  on,  continues  for  some  time,  but  the  younger 
man  is  finally  overpowered,  and,  seeing  himself  to  be 
at  the  mercy  of  his  antagonist,  becomes  the  penitent 
sinner  and  confesses  to  the  Priest  who  labors  with 
him  lovingly  and  ministers  to  his  spiritual  condi 
tion.  The  two  men  then  improvise  a  stretcher  and 
place  Tessa  upon  it,  after  which  they  carry  the  girl 
to  the  door  of  her  own  home  in  the  village.  Here, 
the  Priest  dismisses  Manuello  and  tells  him  to  go  in 
peace.  The  young  man  then  limps  back  to  the  de 
serted  hut  and  remains  there  unmolested  for  some 
time  when  he  disappears  again  from  the  neighbor 
hood. 

The    Americanism    of    Ruth    Wakefield    is    pro- 


18  An  American 

nounced.  Father  Felix  is  equally  devoted  to  their 
common  country.  These  two  often  confer  as  to 
possible  complications  connected  with  international 
affairs ;  at  one  of  these  consultations,  Estrella  hap 
pens  to  be  present  and  declares  that  she  believes 
that  she,  also,  is  an  American  and  that  she  wishes  to 
serve  under  the  same  flag  as  that  to  which  the  other 
two  have  so  often  pronounced  themselves  to  be  de 
voted.  She  offers  to  assist  Ruth  in  every  way  she 
can  should  there  be  an  occasion  that  would  demand 
their  help. 

Ruth  Wakefield  is  awake  in  her  own  room  and 
looking  down  upon  Havana  harbor  on  the  night  of 
February  15th,  1898  and  sees  the  blowing  up  of  the 
Maine  with  her  own  eyes ;  Father  Felix  also  sees 
this  and  hurries  up  the  hill  to  talk  matters  over 
with  Ruth;  they  form  plans  as  to  what  they  can  do 
for  their  own  country  and  in  the  service  of  the 
down-trodden  people  of  Cuba  whose  sufferings  under 
Spanish  tyranny  they  have  so  often  witnessed. 
Ruth  opens  her  home  and  offers  it  as  a  refuge  to 
all  those  who  wish  to  escape  from  Spanish  oppres 
sion. 

Father  Felix  keeps  Ruth  well  informed  as  to  mil 
itary  matters  and,  when,  on  June  10th,  1898,  our 
stars  and  stripes  are  waving,  for  the  first  time,  over 
Cuban  soil,  Ruth  Wakefield  is  standing  beside  Father 
Felix,  who  has  become  an  army  chaplain,  at  the 
window  of  a  temporary  hospital  which  her  wealth 


An  American  19 

has  made  possible.  This  hospital  is  situated  near 
Santiago  and  many  American  soldiers  as  well  as 
many  Cuban  scouts  are  cared  for  within  its  shadowy 
rooms. 

After  the  battle  of  San  Juan  Hill  on  July  1st 
1898,  Ruth  Wakefield  is  one  among  many  volunteer 
nurses  who  went  to  the  assistance  of  a  righteous 
cause.  She  stands  beside  a  little  cot  and  meets  a 
man  who  speaks  to  her  of  "Teddy"  and  of  the  grand 
and  glorious  work  that  he  had  done  that  day;  with 
this  bond  between  them,  they  soon  become  friends. 

Ruth,  as  one  who  has  authority,  moves  from  cot 
to  cot  and,  so,  comes  to  stand  beside  the  murderer 
of  her  husband  or  him  whom  she  had  called  so,  for 
Manuello  evened  up  some  of  his  wickedness  by  serving 
nobly  in  the  battle  of  San  Juan  Hill  and  died  in 
consequence  of  that  day's  dreadful  harvest  of  human 
forms.  Estrella,  too,  and  Father  Felix,  come  to 
stand  beside  his  cot,  but  Ruth  is  all  alone  when  his 
soul  leaves  the  clay  that  it  has  been  inhabiting  for 
awhile,  and,  so,  she  realizes  as  never  before,  that  the 
man  she  knew  as  husband  was  beneath  her  in  every 
way  and  in  that  terrible  and  heart-rending  moment, 
she  begins  to  learn  the  way  to  forget  the  first  wild 
love  of  her  young  womanhood  and  find  the  steps  that 
lead  to  saner,  quieter  and  happier  hours  and  days 
and  years. 

Ruth  is  given  privileges  that  are  not  accorded  to 
many  near  a  bloody  battle-field,  and,  when  she  leaves 


20  An  American 

the  hospital  for  the  night  on  July  1st,  1898,  she 
drives  her  team  along  a  lonely  road,  hoping  to  leave 
behind  her,  not  only  the  scenes  she  has  just  been 
among,  but,  also,  the  thoughts  that  those  scenes 
have  awakened  in  her  mind.  She  thinks  she  is  going 
directly  away  from  the  recent  battle-field.  Her 
team  is  startled  by  the  sudden  rising  of  a  man  near 
the  road  and  runs  away,  throwing  her  out  upon  the 
ground;  she  climbs  over  a  low  embankment  beside 
the  road  and  finds  herself  among1  the  dead;  she  is 
almost  stupefied  by  this  knowledge,  but,  soon,  her  in 
stincts  for  helping  those  who  are  in  trouble  rise  above 
her  fears  and  she  cries  aloud  and  calls  .  .  .  asking 
if  any  there  are  in  need  of  help  that  she  can  give  to 
them.  A  faint  voice  answers  her  and  she  seeks  it  out 
and  finds  an  officer  who  has  been  stricken  down  at 
the  head  of  his  squad  of  men;  they  are  all  lying  in 
a  disordered  heap  and  Ruth  is  obliged  to  lift  one 
dead  body  off  of  the  man  who  seems  to  be  alive. 
Having  found  him,  she  proceeds,  from  her  knowl 
edge  as  a  nurse,  to  aid  him  .  .  .  finds  a  wound  from 
which  his  life-blood  is  flowing  fast  and  forms  a  tour 
niquet  with  a  silken  scarf  she  happens  to  be  wearing. 
He  revives  enough  to  whisper  to  her,  naming  her,  on 
the  instant  "Tender  Heart"  by  which  title  he  after 
wards  addresses  her. 

Having  rendered  all  the  aid  she  can,  she  speeds 
away,  without  fear,  now,  as  she  has  an  object  in  her 
flight,  until  she  secures  help  when  she  returns  and 


An  American  £1 

removes  the  one  whom  she  has  found  among  the  dead 
to  the  hospital,  where,  after  a  long  period  of  suffer 
ing  and  faithful  nursing,  he  recovers  sufficiently  to 
accompany  her  when  she  returns  to  her  home.  Here 
he  proves  himself  to  be  worthy  of  her  love  which  is 
bestowed  upon  him  with  the  approval  of  Father 
Felix  and  even  of  old  Mage.  Ruth's  home  has  been 
destroyed  by  fire  and  her  entire  estate  has  suffered 
much  from  vandalism  and  from  enemies  of  Cuba  and 
of  her  own  country  as  well,  but  she  still  has  plenty 
with  which  to  rebuild  her  home  and  to  assist  many 
in  the  village  of  San  Domingo  who  require  aid  and 
comfort  from  those  who  are  stronger  than  they  are. 

Among  other  patients  in  her  temporary  hospital 
near  Santiago,  Ruth  discovers  one  who  is  a  Spanish 
spy,  for  she  remembers  meeting  him  when  he  was  a 
Spanish  officer  under  most  distressing  circumstances, 
when  it  had  been  his  great  desire  to  do  a  grievous 
wrong  to  a  young,  ignorant  girl  whom  Ruth  rescued 
from  his  vile  clutches.  Ruth  hesitates  to  report  this 
case  to  the  authorities  as  she  is  well  aware  of  the 
fate  meted  out  to  spies,  and  she  compromises  by  tell 
ing  the  facts  to  Father  Felix,  who,  while  he  is  very 
tender  of  the  innocent,  is  just  and  stern  where  hypo 
crites  and  liars  are  concerned.  The  good  Priest 
soon  disposes  of  the  Spanish  spy. 

Father  Felix  distinguishes  himself  in  many  ways 
during  the  hostilities  between  the  opposing  forces 
in  the  Spanish-American  war  and  does  much  good, 


22  An  American 

for  he  does  not  hesitate  to  do  anything  that  he  finds 
to  do  regardless  of  whether  it  is  in  the  line  of  his 
profession  or  not.  He  has  many  experiences  as 
thrilling  as  the  one  in  the  deserted  hut  with  Manuello. 
He  throws  himself  into  many  a  breach  .  .  .  wins 
many  a  hard-fought  battle,  and,  through  it  all  main 
tains  not  only  his  religious  attitude  toward  all  man 
kind,  but  manifests  a  gracious  and  uplifting  love 
for  all  who  dwell  upon  the  earth,  and,  at  the  end  of 
his  activities,  resumes  the  humble  station  he  occupied 
at  first,  for,  as  he  believes,  he  can  do  more  good  right 
there  in  the  little  village  of  San  Domingo  than  in  a 
wider  and  more  elevated  station. 

Many  refugees  leave  Santiago  during,  and  directly 
after,  the  naval  battle  of  Santiago ;  among  these  are 
very  many  wealthy  women  who  are  forced  to  leave 
their  splendid  homes  and  flee,  in  silken  garments, 
with  the  riff-raff  of  the  city. 

Some  among  these  wealthy  women  sought  to  help 
in  temporary  hospitals,  and  one  of  them,  at  least, 
came  to  that  which  Ruth  Wakefield  had  endowed; 
this  woman  was  noticable  in  many  ways,  being  of  su 
perior  intelligence  as  well  as  birth  and  breeding ;  she, 
soon,  became  proficient  as  a  nurse,  and  when  Ruth 
sees  her  standing  close  beside  Estrella  in  the  hospi 
tal,  she  suddenly  recognizes  a  subtle  resemblance  be 
tween  the  two  young  women  and  calls  their  attention 
to  the  fact.  And,  so,  it  develops  that  Estrella  finds 
her  own  blood-kin  .  .  .  her  own  loving  sister  .  .  . 


An  American  23 

there  in  that  shadowy  hospital,  for  it  is  proven  be 
yond  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  by  a  little  trinket  that  the 
girl  has  always  worn  about  her  neck  ...  a  little 
cross  of  golden  memories,  through  which,  and 
through  the  girl  herself,  her  lineage  is  traced,  so 
that  she  remains  with  her  own  kin,  and  does  not  re 
turn  to  the  little  village  where  she  suffered  so  much 
sorrow. 

Tessa,  with  the  stolidity  of  the  Cuban  peasant, 
seems  to  entirely  recover  both  from  her  wounded  leg 
and  her  wounded  heart,  for  she  marries  a  sturdy 
workman  who  supplies  the  earthly  wants  of  Tessa 
and  her  numerous  progeny.  If  she  ever  remembers 
the  romantic  days  through  which  she  has  passed,  her 
appearance  belies  the  fact,  for  she  becomes,  ap 
parently,  contented  with  her  lot  in  life. 


AN  AMERICAN 


CHAPTER  I 

About  the  beginning  of  the  year  eighteen  hundred 
and  ninety-eight,  there  had  been  aroused  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  a  strong 
feeling  of  pity  and  compassion  toward  the  inhabi 
tants  of  the  Island  of  Cuba  who  were  under  the  iron- 
shod  heel  of  Spain  and  who  had  made  many  appeals 
for  help  to  our  own  government  in  one  way  and  in 
another. 

The  time  was  ripe  for  a  revolution  among  the 
dark-skinned  populace  of  the  large  cities  of  the  Is 
land  Empire  and  many  confusing  circumstances  com 
bined  to  add  to  the  confusion  of  sentiments  enter 
tained  toward  the  government  by  those  who  suffered 
from  its  rulings. 

Many  indignities  had  been  heaped  upon  the 
Cubans  by  those  who  claimed  to  represent  the  young 
King  Alfonso  XIII,  who,  in  his  far-away  palace  in 
old  Madrid  was  as  unconscious  of  what  was  done  in 
his  name,  very  many  times,  as  he  would  have  disap 
proved  of  it  had  he  known  it. 

25 


26  An  American 

The  young  King  and  his  mother,  the  Queen  regent, 
tried,  in  every  way  within  their  power,  to  adjust 
matters  amicably  between  their  rebellious  subjects 
and  those  whom  they  had  sent  across  the  sea  to 
govern  them,  but  they  found  this  a  very  difficult  mat 
ter  indeed,  and  between  the  fiery  tempers  of  the  na 
tives  and  the  over-bearing  arrogance  of  the  officers 
who  represented  them,  the  poor  crowned  heads  of 
sunny  Spain  certainly  had  a  pretty  hard  time  of 
it. 

The  Queen  mother  was  naturally  a  gentle  and  a 
very  highly  educated  and  studious  woman,  while 
the  boy  King  was  as  far  from  being  the  typical  idea 
of  a  reigning  tyrant  as  a  handsome,  well-trained 
young  fellow  could  well  be. 

But  those  who  represented  these  two  crowned 
heads  were  of  quite  another  pattern  as  to  character 
and  disposition  and  many  were  the  cruelties  charged 
to  the  account  of  certain  ones  among  their  number 
due  to  the  opportunities  afforded  them  of  gratify 
ing  their  lowest  impulses  and  following  along  the 
paths  that  led,  for  the  time  being,  into  what  seemed 
to  them  to  be  very  pleasant  pastures  and  beside 
very  still  waters,  which,  as  is  well  known,  often,  be 
sides  being  still,  run  deep. 

One  evening,  just  as  dusk  was  falling  over  the 
little  town  of  San  Domingo,  there  appeared,  passing 
along  one  of  the  quiet,  shadowy  narrow  streets,  a 
rather  strange  procession  .  .  .  well  in  advance  of 


An  American  27 

the  rest  of  the  motley  company  appeared  a  village 
Priest  bearing  in  his  hand  a  crucifix  which  he  held 
before  him  as  if  to  fend  off  something  evil  ...  he 
was  dressed,  as  is  the  custom  of  the  Catholic  Priests 
of  Cuba,  in  the  flowing  vestments  of  his  office  and  the 
long  cord  that  was  knotted  round  his  ample  waist 
had  a  huge  cross  dangling  from  the  end  of  it  which 
struck  against  his  well-formed  legs  as  he  strode  along 
with  head  held  high  as  if  he  saw  beyond  the  things 
of  earth  and  gazed  upon  some  beatific  vision  which 
upheld  him  and  lifted  him  above  his  immediate  en 
vironment. 

Indeed,  there  was  one  who  walked  beside  him 
though  he,  himself,  was  unaware  of  it,  except  sub 
consciously,  for  Father  Felix,  as  this  Priest  was 
known,  was  wandering  among  strange  thoughts  as 
he  passed  along  that  almost  silent  little  street,  that 
one  sad  evening. 

He  had  been,  for  many  peaceful  years,  the  Priest 
who  had  officiated  at  almost  all  the  public  meetings 
of  the  village,  but,  never  in  his  life  devoted,  as  it  was 
to  the  consideration  of  holy,  high  and  spiritual  mat 
ters,  had  he  been  called  upon  to  conduct  so  weird  a 
service  as  he  was,  then,  about  to  do. 

He  wondered,  as  he  marched  along,  whether  he  was 
doing  just  exactly  right  in  leading  these,  his  simple- 
minded  followers,  into  what  it  seemed  to  them  they 
must  do,  that  night  ...  he  wondered  whether,  even 
now,  he  would  not  better  turn  to  those  who  followed 


28  An  American 

after  him  and  call  to  them  to  halt  and  to  consider 
well  before  they  took  another  single  step  that  might, 
each  one  of  them,  be  an  irrevocable  and  a  much- to- 
be-regretted  step,  for  it  might  lead  to  what  they 
could  not  know  of  ways  that  might,  as  well  as  not, 
prove  very  winding  and  even  thorn-strewn  ways  for 
those  who  followed  along  them.  And  Father  Felix 
knew  that  he,  alone  of  all  that  little  company,  was 
gifted  with  the  power  to  reason  out  a  fair  and  just 
conclusion  from  the  premises  presented  to  them  all ; 
he  knew  that  he  alone  had  enough  of  education  to 
even  understand  the  meaning  of  the  words  that  had 
been  spoken  to  them  all  ...  he  knew  that  those 
who  came  along  that  little  street  behind  him  had 
trusted  to  him  most  implicitly,  for  many  years,  in 
matters  that  required  thought,  and,  although  they 
had  been  the  ones  to  beg  him  to  take  the  step  that 
they  were  then  about  to  take,  he  knew  that,  even 
then,  right  at  the  last,  had  he  been  minded  to,  he 
might,  yet,  turn  their  minds  away  from  what  they 
seemed  to  be  so  set  upon. 

He  knew  that,  if  he  wished  to  do  so,  he  could  make 
them  see  the  matter  under  their  consideration  in 
quite  another  light  from  what  they  saw  it  in  at  that 
time  ...  he  knew  that  he  could  bend  their  wills  to 
make  them  match  with  his  own  will  for  he  had  done 
this  very  many  times  before  ...  he  was  a  natural 
leader,  and  being  well  equipped  for  leadership,  he 


An  American  29 

took  that  place  as  if  it  were  his  natural  right  .  .  . 
and  so  it  seemed  to  be. 

Any  stranger,  glancing  along  the  line  of  human 
beings  that  followed  Father  Felix  and  his  upheld  cru 
cifix,  would  have  noticed  many  weak  and  vacillating 
faces  .  .  .  many  weak  and  vacillating  wills  as  evi 
denced  by  the  expressions  on  those  weak  and  vacilla 
ting  faces  .  .  .  many  wills  that  could  be  bent  by 
anyone  who  had  a  strong  and  capable  and  domineer 
ing  mind,  and  Father  Felix  had  a  mind  like  that  .  .  . 
a  natural  leader's  most  commanding  mind  ...  he 
was  a  man  to  win  respect  wherever  he  might  go  ... 
a  man  to  dominate  the  wills  of  those  about  him  .  .  . 
a  man  to  lead  the  crowd  ...  a  man  to  guide  the 
minds  of  those  he  met,  and,  after  having  occupied  the 
one  place  in  the  village  that  commanded  the  respect 
of  all,  for  long,  of  course  they  looked  to  him  for 
guidance  and  followed  where  he  led  as  little  children 
follow  after  the  one  full-grown  human  being  in  their 
midst. 

But,  as  they  marced  along,  full  many  whispers 
ran  along  that  motley  little  company  and  gave  some 
prescience  of  the  clamor  that  would  come  if  all  their 
bridled  tongues  should  really  become  loose  again, 
for,  now,  they  only  spoke  in  whispers  dreading  dis 
covery  of  what  they  were  about  to  do  by  some  of 
those  against  whose  orders  they  were  doing  it. 

"I  wonder  what  the   Governor  would   say  if  he 


30  An  American 

could  know  the  thing  that  we're  about  to  do,"  a 
beardless  youth  began,  as  he  edged  a  little  nearer 
to  his  mother's  side,  "I  wonder  what  would  happen 
to  us,  now,  if  he  discovered  our  intention." 

The  mother  only  put  her  finger  on  her  lips  and 
shook  her  head  at  him,  but,  later  on,  when  they  had 
gone  a  little  further  on  their  journey,  she  whispered 
to  him: 

"I  hope  the  Governor  will  never  know  who  did  what 
we're  about  to  do,  at  least,  for,  if  he  should  discover 
which  of  us  accomplished  the  purpose  that  all  the 
villagers  are  interested  in,  we  would  suffer  for  our 
temerity  in  doing  this  ...  I  almost  wish  we  had 
not  joined  this  mob,  my  boy  ...  I  almost  wish, 
at  least,  that  I  had  left  you  home  to  mind  the  house 
while  I  will  be  away  from  it,"  and,  then,  she  ended, 
sadly,  "God  knows  if  we  shall  ever  be  allowed  to  see 
our  home  again." 

There  was  one  who  walked  among  that  little  com 
pany,  that  evening,  who  was  not  as  the  rest  in  very 
many  ways,  and,  yet,  her  lot  was  cast  in  with  the 
rest  for  she  had  lived  in  that  small  village  since  her 
infancy,  and,  so,  it  seemed  to  her  and  them  as  well, 
that  she  was  one  of  them  and,  so,  must  be  among 
them  even  then,  when  they  were  casting  in  their  lots, 
at  Father  Felix'  instigation,  with  the  ones  who  so 
violently  opposed  the  reigning  powers  that  they  were 
held,  then,  and  had  been  so  held,  for  many  weary 
months,  as  mcommamicado  in  the  village  jail  or 


An  American  31 

prison  in  the  wide  and  beautiful  and  picturesque 
great  prado  in  the  very  centre  of  the  town. 

The  girl  who,  in  very  many  ways,  was  different 
from  all  the  rest  was  walking  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  little  crowd  and,  as  the  others  jostled  against 
her,  her  great  blue  eyes  stared  almost  vacantly,  as  it 
seemed,  around  her  like  a  startled  fawn's  when  some 
thing  unknown  ventures  near  to  its  retreat  within 
its  native  forest. 

She  drew  her  slender  figure  up  to  its  full  height, 
and  she  was  taller  than  the  rest  of  those  who  walked 
beside  her,  when  someone  whispered  to  her : 

"What  think  you  of  all  this,  Estrella?  Is  it  to 
your  taste  to  be  a  part  of  those  who,  in  their  puny 
strength,  contend  against  the  strong?  Do  you 
think  that  you'll  enjoy  the  future  that  we  are  ad 
vancing  to?  What  do  you  think  will  happen  to  us 
when  we  reach  the  prado,  anyway?  Do  you  think 
the  Governor  has  found  out  what  we  are  going  to 
do  and  if  he  does  what  action  will  he  take  ?  I'm  more 
than  half  afraid  myself  ...  I  don't  deny  that  I'm 
afraid  .  .  .  how  do  you  feel  about  it  all?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  know  just  how  I  do  feel,  Tessa," 
said  the  taller  girl,  "I  think  that  I'm  afraid,  too 
...  I  know  my  knees  are  trembling  a  very  little, 
so  I  must  be  scared  the  same  as  you  say  you  are. 
Let  us  keep  as  close  together  as  we  can,  so,  if  any 
thing  happens  to  one  it  will  be  sure  to  happen  to  us 
both  ...  it  seems  to  me  .  .  ."  she  ended,  dreamily, 


32  An  American 

"that  even  death  itself  could  not  be  much  worse  than 
the  things  that  we've  endured  just  lately,  here." 

And  then  the  two  young  creatures  shuddered  at 
the  very  thought  of  death  and  huddled  just  as  close 
together  as  they  could  and  marched  along  among  the 
rest  as  quietly  as  if  they  had  not  been  afraid  of  any 
thing  at  all. 

At  last  they  reached  the  prado  and  Father  Felix 
paused  and  held  his  crucifix  even  a  little  higher  than 
he  had  done  all  along  and  waited  for  the  little  com 
pany  to  assemble  directly  in  front  of  him,  when  he 
stretched  his  arms  out  wide  in  silent  blessing  on 
their  undertaking,  and  proceeded  toward  the  little 
prison  that  stood  at  one  end  of  the  prado  facing  the 
great  public  square  where  games  were  held  when 
fiestas  were  in  order. 

But  it  was  for  no  festal  undertaking  that  they  had 
gathered  there,  that  evening;  silent  preparations 
were  making  as  they  halted  .  .  .  battering  rams 
were  being  raised  and  carried  forward  by  the  men 
and  tears  and  flowers  seemed  to  be  the  offering  of  the 
women  in  the  crowd  to  the  ones  they  hoped  to  liber 
ate  from  the  dark,  forbidding  precincts  of  the  edi 
fice  before  them. 

Father  Felix  motioned  those  who  held  the  batter 
ing  rams  to  hold  them  in  their  hands  in  readiness  for 
instant  action  at  a  word  from  him  .  .  .  then  he 
called  aloud  to  him  who  kept  the  keys  to  bring  them 
forth  and  give  them  to  him,  or  he  would  be,  in  case 


An  American  33 

that  his  request  should  be  refused,  compelled,  in  spite 
of  his  strong  desire  to  avoid  all  violence  if  possible, 
to  use  force  in  effecting  the  object  for  which  the 
multitude  surrounding  him,  outside,  had  gathered 
there. 

He  waited,  patiently,  for  several  minutes,  but,  as 
he  received  no  answer  to  his  demand,  he  called  again : 

"Bring  forth  the  keys  at  once!'*  he  cried  raising 
his  voice  so  that  it  carried  far  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  building  that  stood  there  before  him,  "bring 
them  forth  unless  you  wish  to  force  me  to  use  vio 
lence  for  I  am  determined  to  liberate  the  prisoners 
you  hold  within,  and,  if  you  do  not  bring  to  me  the 
keys  so  that  I  may  open  the  strong  doors  with  them, 
why,  then,  I'll  be  obliged  to  break  down  the  barriers 
that  are  between  the  ones  you  hold  within  that  prison 
and  the  freedom  that  is  their  natural  right.  Once 
more  do  I  command  you  .  .  ."  he  cried  in  a  stento 
rian  voice,  using  the  quality  of  voice  that  he  em 
ployed  when  he  intoned  with  due  solemnity,  the  holy 
mass,  "bring  forth  to  me  the  keys  that  I  may  liberate 
my  children  that  you  hold  without  the  right  to  hold 
them,  or,  if  you  refuse  to  do  my  bidding,  then  may 
the  consequences  of  what  will  follow  that  refusal 
be  upon  your  own  head.  .  .  ." 

As,  still  there  was  no  answer  from  the  dark  and 
gloomy  precincts  of  the  edifice  before  him,  he  pre 
pared  to  carry  out  the  threats  that  he  had  made. 

First,  he  commanded  those  who  held  the  battering 


34  An  American 

rams  in  readiness  to  advance  until  they  were  the 
proper  distance  from  the  doors  for  the  use  of  their 
rude  weapons,  then  he  told  the  others  to  await  his 
word  but  to  be  in  readiness,  each  one,  to  follow 
where  he  led,  then,  holding  high  his  crucifix  and  call 
ing  most  devoutly,  on  the  name  of  God,  he  came  as 
near  to  those  who  were  about  to  use  the  battering 
rams  as  he  could  do  and  not  impede  their  movements, 
then  he  cried: 

"Advance  and  give  no  quarter!  Do  your  duty 
as  I  have  instructed  you  to  the  full  extent  of  it! 
Follow  me,  my  little  children,  God  is  good  and  He 
will  care  for  us  in  this  our  desperate  undertaking.'* 

As  the  heavy  detonation  of  the  strokes  of  those 
who  held  the  battering  rams  rang  through  the  build 
ing,  cries  were  heard  as  if  of  those  who  were  in  agony 
and  many  shuddered  at  the  sound  for  well  they 
thought  they  knew  its  cause  ...  it  seemed  to  them 
that  they  would  be  too  late  .  .  .  that  those  they 
sought  to  rescue  were  even  at  that  moment  being 
foully  murdered  in  their  cells  because  they  were 
about  to  save  them  from  the  fate  that  they  had  been 
condemned  to  undergo. 

The  fair  Estrella  clung  to  her  dark  little  friend 
and  whispered  to  her: 

"Tessa,  it  is  more  terrible  than  we  imagined  it 
would  be  ...  what  shall  we  do?  How  can  we  bear 
to  go  yet  nearer  to  the  horror  that  the  prison  hides 


An  American  35 

from  us  ?  Tessa  .  .  .  little  Friend  .  .  ."  she  ended, 
"I'm  awfully  afraid  .  .  .  are  you?" 

"I'm  almost  scared  to  death  myself,  Estrella," 
Tessa  whispered  back,  "I  know  I'll  die  of  fright 
alone  if  this  keeps  on  much  longer  .  .  .  hear  that 
scream!  It's  very  terrible  1" 

But,  then,  all  sounds  were  hushed,  for  prison  doors 
that  had  been  locked  as  tight  as  any  prison  doors 
could  be  had  yielded  to  the  heavy  blows  that  had  been 
rained  upon  them  and,  as  they  opened,  they  could 
plainly  see,  in  the  dim  light  that  fell  within  that 
prison's  entrance,  that  they  had  been,  indeed,  too 
late  for  him  who  lay  at  his  full  length  across  the 
entrance  to  the  prison,  for  his  body  had  been  twisted 
in  its  fall  so  that  his  head  that  had  been  almost 
severed  from  it  lay  askew  as  if  its  eyes,  that  stared 
as  wildly  and  as  full  of  earthly  horror  as  dead  eyes 
could,  had  been  trying  to  discover  something  strange 
about  the  figure  that,  but  only  lately,  was  as  full 
of  life  and  vigor  as  was  any  figure  standing  there 
without  that  prison  door. 

Estrella  gazed  at  that  still  figure  .  .  .  then  she 
screamed  in  almost  more  than  human  agony  and 
darted  forward  till  she  crouched  beside  it  as  it  lay 
there  at  the  entrance  to  the  prison  .  .  .  straighten 
ing  the  handsome  head,  she  lifted  it  until  it  rested  in 
her  lap,  and,  then,  she  softly  smoothed  the  dark 
and  clustering  curls  that  hung  above  the  broad,  full 


36  An  American 

brow,  and  looked  within  the  great  brown  eyes  that 
stared  at  her,  or  so  it  seemed,  as  if  the  owner  of  them 
had  been  walking  in  his  sleep,  and  then  she  pressed 
her  virgin  lips  upon  the  full,  be-whiskered  mouth  of 
him  whose  head  she  held  within  her  lap. 

She  fainted,  then,  and  fell  across  the  body  of  the 
man  who  lay  across  the  entrance  to  that  prison,  and 
Father  Felix  lifted  her  and  laid  the  senseless,  almost 
severed  head  upon  the  floor  again,  and  supported  her 
until  he  left  her  with  her  little  friend,  outside,  among 
the  crowd. 

And  then  the  village  Priest  came  back  and  led  the, 
men  who  held  the  battering  rams  within  the  prison 
to  the  cells  of  those  they  wished  to  liberate  and  com 
manded  them  to  break  down  those  doors  as  they  had 
broken  down  the  other  ones,  but,  here,  he  found  his 
way  was  barred,  for,  just  as  soon  as  blows  began 
to  fall  upon  the  doors  of  those  narrow  cells  those 
within  those  cells  began  to  call  to  them  and  caution 
them  that,  if  the  doors  were  broken  down,  they'd  find 
the  prison-guards  behind  them  with  their  loaded  guns 
and  the  prisoners  told  their  friends  that  those  loaded 
guns  were  pointed  at  their  breasts  and  would  be 
fired  at  them  just  as  soon  as  their  cell-doors  gave 
way. 

When  Father  Felix  heard  this  ultimatum  he 
thought  that  all  his  efforts  had  been  useless  and  his 
deep-laid  plans  of  no  avail  until  he  heard  a  voice  be- 


An  American  37 

hind  him  softly  whisper  ...  a  voice  that  he  had 
never  heard  before: 

"Be  not  weary  in  well-doing.  The  cell-doors  will 
open  and  the  prisoners  come  forth  alive  if  you  but 
use  the  proper  means  to  bring  about  that  end.  Call 
out  to  those  you  wish  to  succor,  now,  and  tell  them 
to  be  of  good  cheer  for  deliverance  is  at  hand." 

The  soft  voice  drifted  away  into  silence,  then,  but 
the  village  Priest  obeyed  its  mandates  and  reassured 
the  ones  within  those  narrow  cells  and  gave  them 
courage  to  withstand  the  threats  of  instant  death 
that  faced  them  there. 

And,  then,  he  turned  to  those  who  waited  his  com 
mands  and  told  them  that  help  was  very  near  .  .  . 
that,  waiting  there  within  the  corridors  of  that  small 
prison  were  those  who'd  come  from  far  to  bring  to 
them  assistance  .  .  .  the  kind  of  help  that  loaded 
guns  would  not  affect.  Then,  he  told  them  of  the 
punishment  that  would  await  the  ones  who  disobeyed 
the  orders  he  was  just  about  to  give  ...  a  punish 
ment  that  would  not  only  last  through  earthly  life 
but  would  go  on  into  eternity  ...  a  punishment 
that  would  not  only  blast  the  earthly  tenements  but 
would  condemn  the  souls  of  those  who  chose  to  act 
in  opposition  to  his  orders  to  everlasting  torment. 

And,  then,  he  turned  to  those  who,  breathlessly, 
were  waiting  for  the  orders  he  was  just  about  to  give, 
and  said  to  them: 


38  An  American 

"When  I  have  counted  up  to  three,  prepare  to 
break  the  doors  down  .  .  .  when  I  have  counted  up 
to  six,  if  so  be  they  remain  unopened,  go  on  and 
break  them  in!"  he  stopped  a  moment,  then,  to  as 
certain  whether  his  followers  fully  understood  the 
instructions  he  was  giving  to  them  .  .  .  seeing  all 
of  them  alert,  he  continued,  "to  you  who  are  within, 
I  make  this  unalterable  statement.  Choose  between 
a  longer  lease  of  earthly  life  and  instant  death ! 
Choose  between  forgiveness  for  your  past  sins  or 
everlasting  punishment!  Open  these  doors  from 
within  or  we  will  break  them  down  and  those  whose 
human  bodies  we  will  find,  lying  stark  and  cold  in 
earthly  death,  will  not  be  those  of  our  dear  friends 
who  are  your  prisoners,  for  there  are  those  within 
those  cells  of  whose  presence  you  are  unaware  but 
who  are  potent  in  the  cause  of  right  and  truth  and 
justice.  I  will  now  proceed  to  count  .  .  .  one  .  .  . 
two  .  .  .  three  .  .  .  "at  that,  he  heard  a  key  thrust 
rapidly  within  a  lock,  but,  as  it  was  unturned,  he 
went  on  counting,  "four  .  .  ."  he  heard  another 
key  inserted  in  a  lock,  "five  .  .  ."  he  waited  just  a 
second  longer,  then,  than  he  had  done  before,  hoping 
that  the  keys  would  turn  before  the  final  number  had 
to  come,  but,  as  they  did  not  do  that,  he  opened  his 
mouth  to  pronounce  the  fatal  word  and  was  about 
to  utter  it,  when,  suddenly,  all  the  cell-doors  opened 
and  the  prison-guards  within  had  fallen  on  their 
knees  in  superstitious  terror  of  what  they  did  not 


An  American  39 

know,  and,  so,  instead  of  uttering  the  fatal  number, 
good  Father  Felix  said,  "Thank  God!"  and  raised 
his  crucifix  and  pronounced  a  blessing  on  them  all, 
both  prisoners  and  those  who'd  guarded  them. 


CHAPTER  II 

When  Father  Felix  ceased  to  be  engaged  in  silent 
prayer  he  lowered  the  crucifix  he  held  in  his  right 
hand  and  placed  it  in  the  bosom  of  the  robe  he  wore 
and  welcomed  those  who  came  from  out  that  gloomy 
prison-cell  with  praises  and  with  prayers  upon  their 
trembling  lips;  he  took  their  hands  in  his  and  held 
them  for  a  moment  as  they  passed  in  slow  proces 
sion,  for  they  were  very  weak  from  fasting  and  from 
long  confinement,  on  their  way  out  into  the  open  light 
of  day. 

The  first  of  all  who  passed  from  out  those  gloomy 
cells  was  he  who'd  called  to  Father  Felix  to  stay  the 
hands  of  those  who  sought  to  liberate  the  prisoners 
...  he  was  taller  than  the  rest  of  those  who 
crowded  out  into  the  corridor  and  they  seemed  to 
follow  him  as  if  he  were  their  natural  leader. 

He  only  paused  a  moment  when  he  reached  the 
side  of  the  Priest  and  hurried  on  as  if  he  sought 
someone  whom  he  hoped  to  find  among  the  motley 
multitude  who  surged  around  the  broken  doors  that 
led  into  the  prado  where  most  of  the  women  were 
assembled  waiting  for  the  more  desperate  action  of 
the  men  who'd  gone  inside  the  prison. 

40 


An  American  41 

The  liberated  prisoner,  although  he,  too,  was  weak 
and  worn  as  all  of  his  companions  were,  yet  rushed 
with  rapid  strides  from  side  to  side  of  the  excited  mob 
whose  clamor,  now  released,  quite  filled  the  prado 
with  vociferous  shouts  of  joy,  until  he  seemed  to 
find  the  object  of  his  hasty  search,  for,  when  he 
came  to  where  Estrella  lay  supported  by  her  little 
friend  upon  a  hastily  constructed  bed  of  straw  and 
grass,  he  stooped  above  her  anxiously  and  leaned 
to  look  within  her  face,  but,  when  her  wide  and  ter 
ror-stricken  eyes  looked  into  his,  he  turned  away  as 
if  he  had  not  found  the  one  he  was  in  search  of  after 
all. 

Estrella  raised  herself  upon  one  elbow  and  rested 
on  the  ready  shoulder  of  her  little  friend  while  she 
gazed  after  his  retreating  form  with  an  eagerness 
not  unmixed  with  sudden  fear;  it  seemed  as  if  the 
girl  were  fascinated  by  him,  and,  yet,  dreaded  his 
approach,  for  she  did  not  even  speak  to  him  although 
she  knew  that  he  had  been  one  of  those  whom  they 
had  come  to  liberate  and  had  looked  forward  to 
greeting  him  when  he  should  be  released. 

But  the  horror  that  had  been  thrust  upon  her  at 
the  very  entrance  of  that  dark  and  gloomy  prison 
had  quite  unnerved  her  and  had  made  her  shrink 
from  any  contact  with  the  prisoners  who,  now,  came 
trooping  out  and  mingled  with  the  crowd  by  which 
they  were  soon,  as  it  seemed,  absorbed. 

Then,  suddenly,  a  trumpet  blast  rang  through 


42  An  American 

the  wide  and  spacious  prado  and  a  company  of 
mounted  cavalry,  with  naked  swords  uplifted,  rode 
madly  in  among  the  crowd  and  scattered  it  as  chaff 
is  scattered  by  a  furious  wind  .  .  .  cries  of  agony 
were  heard  as  some  were  trampled  by  the  horses, 
tortured  by  the  cruel  spurs  which  their  infuriated 
riders  were  driving  into  their  tender  skins,  and  many 
men  and  women  fell  into  disordered  heaps  of  human 
misery  in  wildly  scrambling  toward  a  place  of  temp 
orary  saftey. 

The  soldiers  gave  no  quarter  to  the  fleeing  masses 
of  the  people  but  kept  driving  all  of  them  who  stood 
upon  their  feet  at  all  toward  the  open  streets  of  the 
little  village  that  led  out  of  the  prado,  ordering  them 
to  cease  from  disturbing  the  peace  and  calling  upon 
them  in  the  name  of  the  young  King,  Alfonso  XIII, 
to  disperse  at  once  and  to  return  to  their  homes  in 
the  village  without  delay. 

The  most  of  those  within  the  prado  had  been 
driven  out  before  the  commanding  officer  of  the 
soldiers  noticed  that  the  prison  doors  were  open, 
even  then,  at  first  he  did  not  perceive  just  what  the 
crowd  had  been  collected  for,  or  he  might  have  given 
other  orders  than  he  had. 

When  he  beheld  the  broken  doors  he  marvelled 
greatly,  for  this  was  an  unlooked-for  and  unprece 
dented  method  of  liberating  political  prisoners  in 
San  Domingo  and  the  commanding  officer  did  not 
know  just  what  action  to  take  in  the  matter  but  felt 


An  American  43 

that  he  must  wait  for  further  orders  from  his  super 
iors  in  command  before  taking  any  drastic  steps  to 
quell  the  evident  uprising  of  public  opinion. 

Father  Felix  had  seen  the  soldiers  as  they  dashed 
into  the  prado  and  he  hastened  outside  the  prison  in 
tending  to  meet  them  and  hold  some  colloquy  with 
their  leader,  but,  when  he  had  reached  the  centre  of 
the  prado  the  soldiers  were  driving  the  crowd  out  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  enclosure,  so  that,  instead  of 
meeting  the  leader  of  the  soldiery  he  came  upon  his 
own  people  as  they  lay  in  disordered  heaps  or  stag 
gered  to  their  feet. 

Observing  Estrella  and  Tessa  crouched  back 
against  a  wall  as  far  away  from  the  soldiers  as  they 
could  manage  to  put  themselves,  he  approached  them 
and  asked  them  what  they  knew  about  this  new 
phase  of  the  tumultuous  doings  of  the  day. 

The  two  girls  greeted  him  joyfully  for  they  had 
had  their  fill  of  horror  and  welcomed  the  Priest  who 
represented  to  them  the  sanctity  of  the  church : 

"Father  Felix,"  cried  the  little  Tessa,  "tell  us 
what  we  are  to  do  next  and  where  we  are  to  go 
and  what  we  are  to  do  when  we  get  there,  for  we  are 
dreadfully  upset  and  poor  Estrella  has  had  a  ter 
rible  shock  and  is  still  weakened  from  her  fainting 
fit,  while  I  am  just  as  I  have  been  right  along  .  .  . 
scared  half  to  death." 

The  good  Priest  stopped  beside  the  girls  long 
enough  to  tell  them  to  quietly  go  to  their  own  homes 


44  An  American 

and  stay  indoors  until  morning,  then  he  passed  on 
to  the  other  groups,  and,  where  he  could  do  so,  as 
sisted  them  to  leave  the  prado,  preparatory  to  seek 
ing  their  own  places  of  abode  where  he  advised  them 
all  to  remain  if  possible  without  molestation  from  the 
authorities. 

When  Father  Felix  had  reached  the  little  cluster 
of  people  surrounding  the  liberated  prisoner  whom 
we  have  mentioned  before,  he  came  to  a  halt,  and, 
beckoning  the  young  man  referred  to  to  follow  him, 
he  passed  on  out  of  ear-shot  of  the  rest  and  said 
to  him: 

"I  wish  that  you  would  explain  to  me  how  it 
happens  that  Estrella  is  in  need  of  help  and  you, 
although  free,  are  not  by  her  side.  How  does  it 
happen,  Manuello,  that  your  half-sister  has  only 
her  little  friend,  Tessa,  to  lean  upon,  while  your 
strong  arms  are  without  a  burden?" 

The  young  fellow  hung  his  head  as  if  ashamed,  for 
a  moment,  before  he  answered  Father  Felix,  and 
seemed  to  ponder  deeply  over  his  reply  to  the  good 
Priest's  intimate  question: 

"I  can  tell  you  about  that  in  a  very  few  words, 
Father,"  he  at  length  summoned  courage  to  say,  "I 
have  only  within  the  past  few  most  delightful  mo 
ments  been  freed  from  a  loathesome  dungeon  and 
have  been  receiving  the  felicitations  of  some  of  my 
friends  on  my  fortunate  escape.  I  did  not  realize 


An  American  45 

that  Estrella  needed  my  services  ...  if  so,  of 
course  I  will  at  once  offer  them  to  her." 

Bowing  low  before  Father  Felix,  he  put  his  right 
hand  to  his  head  as  if  to  doff  its  covering,  but, 
finding  it  bare  except  for  his  thick  mop  of  dishevelled 
brown  hair,  he  smiled,  instead,  and,  suiting  his 
actions  to  his  words,  approached  the  two  girls  who 
still  remained  where  Father  Felix  had  left  them  as 
if  afraid  to  move: 

"Allow  me !"  he  cried,  gayly,  extending  one  strong 
arm  to  each  of  the  maidens,  "Accept  my  escort  to 
whatever  place  you  desire  to  go !" 

Estrella  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  the  offered 
arm,  but  Tessa  eagerly  laid  hold  of  the  proffered 
protection  and  snuggled  her  small  person  against 
the  tall  figure  of  the  young  fellow  who  turned  to  her 
companion  as  if  to  discover  the  cause  of  her  appar 
ent  coolness. 

"Why  so  silent,  fair  Lady?"  he  inquired,  "Have 
you  no  congratulations  to  offer  me  upon  my  recent 
harrowing  experience  and  subsequent  and  most  for 
tunate  escape?" 

Estrella  did  not  answer  him  at  first,  but  gazed  in 
tently  into  his  eager  face  as  if  to  read  there  the  inner 
motives  that  prompted  his  lightly-spoken  words. 

After  she  had  looked  into  his  face  for  a  few 
seconds  of  earnest  scrutiny,  she  said  to  him: 

"Manuello,  why  did  you  not  speak  to  me  when 


46  An  American 

we  first  met  after  your  liberation  from  the  prison? 
Why  have  you  spent  the  time  since  then  among  the 
others  instead  of  looking  after  my  interests?  Have 
you  ceased  to  care  for  me  during  your  incarceration  ? 
What  have  I  done  to  deserve  such  treatment  from 
you?  Have  I  not  treated  you  as  a  sister  should? 
In  what  way  have  I  offended  you,  Manuello?" 

As  she  uttered  these  words  her  fair  face  flushed 
with  the  tide  of  deep  emotion  that  swept  over  it  and 
her  blue  eyes  grew  dark  and  full  of  feeling.  She 
placed  one  of  her  hands  on  his  arm,  lightly,  but  held 
herself  aloof  from  contact  with  his  person. 

He  recognized  this  attitude  of  hers  by  standing 
a  little  more  erectly  and  holding  the  arm  on  which 
her  hand  had  been  laid,  stiffly  extended  a  little  from 
his  body: 

"How  suddenly  affectionate  you  have  become,  my 
soft  and  yielding  sister!  It  seems  to  me  that  I  re 
member  how  earnestly  you  plead  with  me  to  cease 
embracing  you  whenever  opportunity  was  afforded 
to  me,  before  I  went  to  prison  for  my  sins  ...  I 
think  you  are  the  girl  who  used  to  say  to  me  'please, 
Manuello,  don't  hold  my  hand  so  tightly !  You  are 
too  rough !'  I  do  not  wish  to  be  considered  rough 
by  any  woman,  and,  so,  I  am  more  cautious  in  ap 
proaching  your  sacred  person,  now  that  I  have  had 
time  to  reflect  upon  your  many  words." 

"How  can  you  speak  so  to  her,  Manuello,"  ex 
claimed  the  dark-skinned  Tessa,  "now  that  you  are 


An  American  47 

free  once  more?  Poor  Estrella  has  had  a  most  ter 
rible  experience,  here,  tonight  .  .  .  you  ought  to 
comfort  instead  of  scolding  her." 

The  tender-hearted  little  girl  looked  up  at  the 
big  man  reproachfully  and  reached  around  his  back 
to  pat  Estrella's  shoulder,  but  he  only  stalked  along 
between  the  two  girls,  sullenly  and  almost  silently. 

At  length,  they  reached  the  little  cottage  where 
Estrella  and  her  family  lived  and  Tessa  ran  along 
a  little  further  to  her  own  home  while  Manuello 
and  his  half-sister  entered  their  own  dwelling. 

It  happened  that  they  were  alone,  at  first,  as  the 
other  members  of  the  little  family  had  not  yet  re 
turned  from  the  prado,  and,  in  that  interval  of  time, 
considerable  was  said  and  done  by  both  of  them. 

"Manuello,"  said  the  girl,  putting  one  hand  on 
each  of  his  broad  shoulders,  "have  you  no  pity  for 
me,  now  that  Victorio  is  dead?  You  must  have  seen 
his  poor,  mangled  body  lying  there  at  the  entrance 
of  the  prison,  Manuello  .  .  .  can  you  tell  how  he 
came  to  die  just  as  he  and  all  the  rest  were  about 
to  be  released  from  prison?" 

Her  tear-stained  face  was  very  near  to  his  and 
his  own  lips  began  to  tremble  before  he  mustered 
courage  to  answer  her: 

"Of  course,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  Estrella,  "he  be 
gan  haltingly  and  slow,  "of  course  I  pity  you  as 
well  as  any  other  woman  whose  lover's  newly  dead. 
As  to  how  he  happened  to  be  killed  .  .  .  why,  I  guess 


48  An  American 

you  will  never  know  just  what  did  happen  in  that 
prison  when  those  battering  rams  began  to  rock  it 
by  their  impact  ...  I  am  certain  that  I  cannot 
give  you  much  explanation  as  I,  myself,  was  one  of 
those  who  suffered,  although  you  do  not  seem  con 
cerned  as  to  that  in  any  way." 

"You  escaped  alive,  Manuello,  and  poor  Victorio 
did  not  for  his  poor  head  was  almost  severed  from 
his  body  .  .  ."  said  Estrella,  weeping  violently,  with 
deep-drawn  sobs  of  agony,  "I  lifted  him  and  tried 
to  hold  his  head  upon  my  lap  .  .  .  oh,  Manuello," 
she  continued,  clinging  to  him  involuntarily,  "it  was 
very  terrible!" 

Her  sufferings  seemed  to  move  him  for  he  put 
his  arms  about  her  shoulders  and  drew  her  head  for 
ward  until  it  rested  on  his  broad  and  palpitating 
breast : 

"Poor  little  girl!"  he  murmured,  softly,  stroking 
her  fair  hair,  "Poor  little  Estrella !  I  am  sorry  for 
you.  .  .  I  do  pity  you,  though  why  you  chose 
Victorio  for  your  lover  was  always  beyond  my  com 
prehension." 


CHAPTER  III 

When  Father  Felix  left  the  prado  he  went  directly 
to  the  church  where  he  officiated,  and,  thence,  into 
the  small  refectory  behind  it;  here,  he  removed  the 
flowing  vestments  he  had  worn  when  engaged  in  the 
enterprise  which  we  have  described  in  a  previous 
chapter  of  this  book,  and  assumed  a  more  conven 
tional  and  handy  garb  for  he  had  work  to  do  that 
would  require  all  the  strength  of  his  arms  and  all 
the  muscles  of  his  broad  back;  he  had  set  himself 
a  task  that  was  never  meant  for  priestly  hands  to 
do,  and,  in  the  doing  of  it,  he  would  need  all  the 
strength  that  years  of  careful  living  and  an  inherited 
and  bounding  health  had  bestowed  upon  him. 

He,  at  once,  began  preparations  for  the  work  he 
had  to  do,  and,  to  begin  with,  he  adjusted  the  heavy 
cross  which  he  always  wore  about  his  neck  so  that  it 
would  hang  exactly  in  front  of  him  and  not  over 
balance  his  body  by  being  on  one  side  or  the  other; 
this  cross  had  been  a  relic  much  prized  by  him  of 
an  old  Priest  with  whom  he  had  studied  and  whose 
sainted  memory  he  revered  almost  as  much  as  that 
of  the  saints  whom  he  had  been  taught  to  worship 
along  with  the  Virgin  Mary  and  The  Babe  of  Beth- 

49 


50  An  American 

lehem;  then,  he  put  on  next  to  his  skin  a  hair-cloth 
shirt  so  constructed  as  not  to  scratch  and  yet  to  be 
very  warm;  over  this  he  placed  a  heavy  riding-coat 
which  had  been  given  to  him  by  one  of  those  who  at 
tended  the  services  he  conducted  in  the  church;  these 
garments,  together  with  heavy  breeches  and  warm, 
woolen  stockings  worn  under  heavy  boots,  completed, 
with  the  addition  of  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  a  disguise 
that  would  deceive  almost  any  person  who  was  ac 
quainted  with  his  ordinary  appearance. 

Having  clothed  himself  to  his  own  satisfaction, 
he  took  a  heavy  stick  he  had  handy  in  his  strong 
right  hand  and  proceeded  to  leave  the  vicinity  where 
he  was  accustomed,  at  all  hours,  to  be  found,  and, 
stealthily  and  quietly,  exercising  all  the  precaution 
of  which  he  was  capable,  he  proceeded  up  the  street 
that  ran  behind  the  little  church  with  as  much  of 
haste  as  was  consistent  with  the  object  of  his  journey. 

When  he  had  gone  about  two  blocks  from  the 
church  he  turned  sharply  to  his  left  and  proceeded 
about  as  far  again  up  the  street  that  led  away  from 
the  village,  then,  turning  again  to  his  left,  he  walked 
briskly  for  another  block  or  two,  when  he  came  to  a 
sharp  turn  and  paused  as  if  in  doubt  as  to  just  which 
turn  to  take,  when,  suddenly,  as  if  from  the  ground 
at  his  feet,  he  heard  a  low  voice  addressing  him  in 
no  uncertain  language: 

"Turn  toward  the  right  side  of  this  street,"  whis 
pered  the  voice,  "take  the  right-hand  side  of  this 


An  American  51 

street  and  then  turn  again  toward  the  left  when 
you  have  gone  for  two  more  blocks  toward  the  right. 
You  will  find  the  object  of  your  search  has  been  in 
waiting  for  you  for  some  hours  and  is  now  growing 
impatient  ...  so  make  all  possible  haste,  good 
Father  Felix  .  .  .  make  all  possible  haste  for  she 
is  sore  pressed  with  fatigue  and  fear." 

When  the  voice  had  ceased  speaking  to  him,  Father 
Felix  followed  the  direction  it  gave  him,  implicitly, 
and  found,  indeed,  as  it  had  assured  him,  the  object 
of  the  night- journey  he  had  just  made,  waiting  for 
him  with  great  impatience,  coupled  with  much  fear 
and  dread  of  consequences ;  he  hastened  to  reassure 
her  as  soon  as  he  reached  her  side  by  saying  softly 
to  her: 

"Be  of  good  cheer,  dear  Madam.  The  work  that 
you  commissioned  me  to  do  has  been  well  done  and 
all  of  the  prisoners  excepting  one  are  now  at  liberty. 
Unfortunately,  one  of  our  friends  lost  his  life  just 
before  the  wide  doors  of  the  prison  were  burst  open 
...  no  one  seems  to  know  how  this  came  about, 
but  we  found  his  dead  body  across  the  very  entrance 
as  if,  indeed,  he  had  been  about  to  join  our  ranks 
outside  when  death  overtook  and  stopped  him." 

"Which  of  the  prisoners  was  killed?"  asked  the 
woman  who  had  been  waiting  there  for  his  coming, 
eagerly  and  apprehensively. 

"I  do  not  suppose  that  you  were  acquainted  with 
the  young  fellow  .  .  ."  answered  the  good  Father 


52  An  American 

Felix,  soothingly,  "he  was  called  Victorio  Colenzo 
...  he  was  the  lover  of  a  girl  I  know  very  well  and 
she  was  with  the  crowd  who  followed  me ;  she  dashed 
into  the  entrance  of  the  prison  and  held  his  head, 
which  had  been  almost  severed  from  its  body,  in  her 
lap  until  she  fainted  and  became  mercifully  uncon 
scious  of  her  horrible  surroundings  .  .  .  the  poor 
girl  was  almost  crazed  with  agony  and  regret,  for 
she  had  flouted  him  to  some  extent  because  of  his 
revolutionary  sentiments  .  .  ." 

He  had  gotten  that  far  in  his  narrative  little 
thinking  of  the  intense  interest  it  had  for  the  woman 
listening  to  it,  until  he  happened  to  look  earnestly 
at  her  when  he  saw,  in  an  instant,  that  it  held  for 
her  great  personal  appeal ;  he  stopped  at  that  know 
ledge  and  waited  for  her  to  explain  the  situation 
if  so  be  she  wished  to  do  so ;  at  length,  between  low- 
drawn  sobs,  she  said,  f alteringly : 

"You  say  Victorio  Colenzo  was  the  lover  of  some 
light  girl  you  know?  Indeed,  you  are  much  mis 
taken.  Instead  of  being  any  girl's  lover,  he  be 
longed  solely  to  me.  He  was  my  own  dearly  beloved 
husband,  Father  Felix.  I  had  not  yet  told  you  of 
our  marriage  for  I  wanted  you  to  think  of  me  only 
in  my  own  personal  right,  but  I  am  the  widow  of  the 
man  whose  shameful  and  horrible  death  you  have 
just  been  describing  to  me  ...  I  am  the  weeping 
widow  of  Victorio  Colenzo,  Father  Felix,  and,  if  it 
be  in  my  power,  his  death  shall  be  avenged  in  blood !" 


An  American  53 

As  she  ceased  speaking  she  put  her  hands  before 
her  face  and  gave  way,  utterly,  to  her  great  sorrow, 
for  she  had  but  spoken  the  solemn  truth  although 
no  one  of  her  many  acquaintances  suspected  that 
she  was  a  married  woman  at  all. 

Father  Felix  was  dumbfounded  by  the  intelligence 
the  young  woman  had  just  given  to  him  and  pitied 
her  from  the  very  bottom  of  his  tender  heart  and  he 
blamed  his  blundering  tongue  for  giving  to  her  such 
a  shock  as  he  had  just  been  the  cause  of ;  at  the  same 
time  he  could  not  blame  himself  as  much  as  he  might 
have  done  had  he  not  known  of  the  marriage  con 
tract  of  Estrella  and  this  same  man  of  whom  he 
had  been  speaking;  he  hastened  to  place  this  young 
girl  in  the  right  light  before  his  companion  by 
saying: 

"My  dear  Madam,  as  to  the  girl  of  whom  I  was 
just  speaking,  she  is  in  every  sense  of  the  word  a 
good  girl  and  innocent  of  any  wrong  intention;  if 
there  is  a  sinner  in  this  matter  it  was  he  who  is  now 
not  to  be  condemned  by  any  human  being,  for  he  has 
gone  before  his  Maker  Who  will  mete  out  to  him 
whatever  is  his  just  dessert.  I  am  deeply  grieved 
that  I  should  have  caused  you  this  deep  grief  at  this 
time,  but,  as  the  circumstances  are,  you  would  have 
been  obliged  to  know  it  very  soon  in  any  case." 

The  young  woman  who  had  been  waiting  for  the 
Priest  to  come  to  her  to  make  his  report  as  to  how 
he  had  done  the  work  that  she  had  set  for  him  to 


54  An  American 

do,  was  beautiful  as  any  dream  of  womanhood  could 
ever  be. 

Her  great  gray  eyes,  that  shone  like  stars  upon 
a  misty  night,  were  lifted  to  his  face  and  questioned 
him  as  to  the  truth  of  his  last  statement  while  they 
plainly  showed  the  almost  holy  faith  she  had  in  all 
he  did: 

"Dear  Father  Felix,"  she  said,  finally,  stifling  as 
best  she  could  the  sobs  that  shook  her  slender  figure, 
"dear  Father  Felix,  I  know  you  speak  the  truth,  and, 
yet,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  he  could  have 
ever  been  a  hypocrite  such  as  a  man  would  have  to 
be  to  be  what  you  infer  he  was.  He  was  my  darling 
husband  ...  if  he,  also,  was  the  lover  of  a  trusting 
girl,  then  he  sinned  most  grievously  ...  it  breaks 
my  heart,"  she  ended,  clasping  her  soft,  white  hands 
together  spasmodically,  "it  breaks  my  heart  to 
think  he  could  be  such  a  villian  as  you  say  he  was. 
Dear  Father  Felix,"  she  began  again,  for  hope  will 
sometimes  come  upon  the  very  heels  of  wild  despair, 
"dear  Father  Felix,  are  you  sure  that  this  man  who 
is  newly  dead  can  be  the  Victorio  Colenzo  that  I 
know  .  .  .  the  man  who  is  ...  I  hope  he  is  ... 
my  own  dear  husband?  The  one  I  mean  was  a  pris 
oner  with  the  others  you  have  liberated  ...  it  was 
for  his  sake  alone  that  I  arranged  to  have  you  do 
the  work  you've  done  .  .  .  might  it  not  be  that  you 
have  been  mistaken  in  the  man?  Might  there  not 


A n  American  55 

have  even  been  two  men  bearing  the  same  name  within 
that  prison?" 

Eagerly  and  hopefully,  she  questioned  the  good 
Priest.  He  sadly  shook  his  head  and  said  to  her: 

"The  young  man  whose  body  lay  within  the  en 
trance  to  the  prison  when  we  had  battered  down 
the  door,  was  tall  and  very  dark  .  .  .  his  hair  was 
like  a  raven's  wing  for  blackness  .  .  .  his  eyes  were 
like  the  falcon's  in  their  keenness  ...  he  was  a  hand 
some  fellow  in  every  possible  way  and  the  girl, 
Estrella,  of  whom  I  spoke,  fairly  worshipped  him  al 
though  her  own  family  flouted  her  for  doing  so,  as 
he  only  came  to  see  her  at  long  intervals  and  seemed 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  her  .  .  .  seldom  ever  went 
out  anywhere  with  her,  but  they  were  plighted  lovers 
.  .  that  I  know  .  .  .  they  came  to  me  together, 
one  evening,  in  the  church,  and  I  blessed  their  future 
union,  believing  him  to  be  an  honest  man  and  know 
ing  her  to  be  a  gentle,  true  and  loving  girl." 

"I  fear  he  was  my  husband,  Father  Felix.  ...  I 
fear  the  very  one  I  hoped  to  liberate  has  lost  his  life 
and  lost  his  honor,  too.  Father  Felix,  tell  me  how 
to  bear  this  great  and  hopeless  sorrow !  Is  there  any 
way  to  boar  a  sorrow  such  as  this  one  is  ?  Can  I  shut 
my  Husband's  memory  from  my  heart  because  I  can 
no  longer  have  respect  for  him  ?  Is  there  any  way," 
she  wailed,  pleadingly,  "is  there  any  way  to  bear  a 
sorrow  such  as  this  one  is  ?  Tell  me,  good  Father,  tett 


56  An  American 

me,  is  there  any  way  of  escape  for  me  who  am  as  in 
nocent  as  is  this  young  girl  of  whom  you  have  just 
spoken?  Is  there  some  way  in  which  I  can  assist 
her,  Father  Felix?  Perhaps  it  is  my  duty,  under 
these  circumstances,  to  hunt  her  up  and  try  to  help 
her,  who  is,  also,  as  it  were,  a  widow  of  my  darling 
Husband.  Must  I  do  this,  Father?  Would  it  be  my 
duty,  as  the  wife  of  Victorio  Colenzo,  to  look  this 
girl  up  and  try  to  help  her  bear  her  sorrow  on  ac 
count  of  his  death?'* 

The  good  Priest  looked  at  her  in  deep  amazement, 
but  he  answered  her  as  calmly  as  he  could  command 
his  voice  to  speak : 

"No,  my  Daughter,  no  ...  that  would  be  going 
beyond  reason  as  to  duty.  It  might  be  right  for 
you  to  send  her  something  if  she  were  in  need  of 
monetary  assistance.  ...  I  do  not  think  she  is, 
however,  I  do  not  think  Estrella  is  in  need  of  any 
thing  to  live  upon  .  .  .  they  had  not  been  married, 
you  understand  .  .  .  she  was  not  his  wife  as  you 
were  .  .  .  only  just  he'd  promised  he  would  marry 
her,  sometime.  No,  you  owe  her  nothing  more  than 
womanly  sympathy  in  her  bereavement  and  you  do 
not  need  to  see  her  at  all,  for  that  matter.  It  would 
give  you  unnecessary  pain,  it  seems  to  me.  As  for 
her,  if  we  can,  we  will  let  her  remain  in  ignorance 
of  the  character  of  him  she  loved  .  .  .  she  would  the 
sooner  repair  the  injury,  it  seems  to  me,  if  she  could 
still  respect  his  memory.  It  must  be  doubly  hard  for 


An  American  57 

you,  my  Daughter,  to  lose  him  and  respect  for  him 
at  the  same  time  .  .  .  yet,  it  would  have  been  a 
terrible  knowledge  for  you  to  have  gained  .  .  .  that 
he  had  misled  this  innocent  girl  .  .  .  even  during  his 
life.  A  man  has  little  thought  of  the  women  who  love 
him  when  he  plays  fast  and  loose  with  more  than  one 
of  them  at  a  time,  anyway.  I  wish  I  knew  what  words 
to  say  to  you  to  make  you  strong  to  bear  this  misery, 
dear  Daughter  .  .  .  you  must  bear  it  all  alone,  I 
know  that  much  .  .  .  only  God  in  His  great  Mercy, 
can  assist  you  in  this  matter  .  .  .  only  He  can  tell 
you  what  to  do  or  how  to  endure  your  agony  of 
spirit,  for  only  He  can  understand  your  heart.  I 
am  but  a  feeble  instrument  in  God's  Own  Hands,  my 
dear,  afflicted  Daughter.  ...  I  am  but  a  very  feeble 
instrument.  ...  I  wish  I  knew  the  way  to  help  you 
bear  this  thing.  I  wish  that  I  could  say  the  fitting 
word  to  turn  your  mind  to  other  thoughts,  for  only 
in  the  mind  can  fitting  help  be  found  .  .  .  only  the 
spiritual  side  of  your  strong  nature  can  uphold  you 
now." 

He'd  kept  on  talking  to  her  hoping  to  alleviate 
her  pain  in  some  degree  .  .  .  hoping  that  her  fits 
of  violent  and  heart-breaking  weeping  would  grow 
farther  and  farther  apart  until  they  would  cease 
altogether  so  that,  being  calmer,  she  could  better 
face  this  heavy  burden  that  was  hers,  and  hers  alone, 
to  bear.  Seeing  no  cessation  of  her  sobs  and  moans 
of  agony  of  spirit,  he  began  to  speak  of  other  mat- 


58  An  American 

ters,  hoping  to  distract  her  mind  and  turn  her 
thoughts  to  other  things,  thereby  giving  her  an  op 
portunity  to  face  the  sorrow  that  had  come  upon  her 
so  suddenly  with  more  strength  than  she  would  have 
if  she  continued  to  dwell  on  it  alone.  So  he  be 
thought  him  of  the  soldiery  and  of  their  coming  rid 
ing  into  the  prado  and  he  began  to  tell  her  of  this 
phase  of  the  adventure  he  had  on  her  account, 
mainly.  She  listened  calmly  to  this  narrative  and 
even  asked  some  questions,  haltingly,  but,  just  as 
soon  as  that  account  was  ended,  she  began  again 
to  ask  concerning  poor  Victorio: 

"Where  have  they  taken  his  remains,  good  Father? 
Where  can  I  find  my  darling  Husband's  body  ?  How 
can  I  bear  to  have  to  see  his  face  which  has  always 
to  my  knowledge  been  so  full  of  life  and  youth  and 
perfect  health  lying  stark  and  still  with  no  expres 
sion  in  his  glorious  dark  eyes  that  always  looked  so 
lovingly  at  me?  Father  Felix,  even  now,  it  seems  to 
me  that  there  must  be  some  mistake  about  my  Hus 
band's  being  the  same  man  who  was  the  lover  of  this 
girl  you  know  about.  ...  I  think  that  I  will  see 
her  .  .  .  there  .  .  .  beside  my  darling  Husband's 
body  and  decide  the  matter  for  myself  instead  of 
listening  to  the  tales  that  have  been  told  to  me. 
That  is  how  I  think  I  will  proceed,"  she  ended, 
then,  quite  calmly,  as  it  seemed,  for  secretly  she 
then  began  to  hope  that  it  was  not  her  husband,  after 
all,  "That  is  how  I  will  proceed  about  this  terrible 


An  American  59 

calamity,  Father  Felix.  I  will  see  this  girl  beside 
the  body  of  the  man  she  says  has  been  her  lover  .  .  . 
he  may  not  be  my  darling  Husband,  after  all." 

And  so  their  conference  ended,  he  giving  her  ex 
plicit  directions  as  to  where  Victorio's  body  had  been 
placed,  and  she  thanking  him  for  carrying  out  her 
wishes  even  though,  as  it  seemed  then,  the  very  thing 
she  had  him  do  the  work  for  had  failed  her  utterly. 

Father  Felix  went  back,  then,  to  the  refectory, 
with  this  complicated  matter  bearing  hard  upon  his 
heart.  He  pitied  both  the  suffering  women  very 
much  and  wished  to  help  them  both  if  so  be  he  could 
find  the  proper  way  to  do  the  task  in. 

He  pondered  deeply  on  the  various  situations  he'd 
surprised  in  carrying  out  the  project  of  the  woman 
he  had  met,  that  night ;  she  had  not  told  him  of  her 
plans  in  their  entirety,  and,  so,  it  seemed,  the  very 
plans  she  doted  on  the  most  had  very  far  miscarried 
and  the  work,  so  far  as  she  had  been  concerned, 
had  not  only  been  as  futile  as  any  work  could  ever 
be,  but,  also,  it  had  brought  to  her  a  new  and  hor 
rible  calamity  besides  the  failure  of  her  plans  and 
loss  of  him  she  evidently  deeply  loved  as  tender 
women  love  but  only  once  in  all  their  human  lives, 
perhaps,  for  Victorio  Colenzo  had  been  a  man  to 
claim  the  love  of  tender  women  ...  he  was  very  tall 
and  very  handsome,  too ;  his  deep,  dark  eyes  were 
very  full  of  loving  expression  and  his  strong  arms, 
folded  close  about  a  tender  woman's  yielding  form, 


60  An  American 

would  lift  her  spirit  up  and  make  her  almost  wild 
with  joy  and  gladness. 

And,  as  it  looked  now,  those  strong  arms  had  been 
folded,  not  only  round  his  own  wife's  tender  form, 
but,  also,  about,  at  least,  one  other  woman's,  too. 
Good  Father  Felix  reflected  on  the  fraility  of  man 
and  pondered  deeply  on  the  tenderness  of  women, 
but  he  did  not,  even  then,  reach  the  very  root  of  the 
whole  matter,  for  he,  being  what  he  was,  would  not 
be  very  likely  ever  to  know  the  heights  and  depths, 
as  well,  of  human  love,  for  he  had  always  been  a  reli 
gious  devotee  in  spite  of  his  great  strength  of  limb 
.  .  .  he'd  only  used  his  bodily  powers  to  forward 
the  work  to  which  his  whole  life  was  devoted  utterly, 
and,  so,  good  Father  Felix  could  not  fully  under 
stand  a  man  such  as  Victorio  Colenzo  must  have  been 
to  leave  the  record  that  he'd  left  behind  him  when  he 
died,  there,  in  the  entrance  to  that  dark  and  gloomy 
prison,  just  as  he  had  been  about  to  come  again,  a 
free  man,  into  the  glorious  light  of  day. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FATHER  FELIX  had  prepared  the  widow  of  Vic- 
torio  Colenzo  for  the  sight  she  would  behold  when  she 
went  to  the  rude  dwelling  where  they  had  laid  the 
form  of  the  prisoner  whose  dead  body  had  been  found 
lying  in  the  entrance  to  the  prison  on  the  day  the 
people  battered  down  the  doors  and  set  at  liberty  sev 
eral  political  prisoners  confined  therein,  but  no  one 
could,  really,  prepare  a  woman  for  the  vision  pre 
sented  to  her  eyes  when  she  entered  the  cottage  that 
had  been  turned  into  a  temporary  morgue,  for  more 
than  one  of  those  engaged  in  the  deadly  strife  with 
the  soldiery  in  the  prado  after  the  deliverance  of  the 
prisoners  had  given  up  his  earthly  life,  either  at  the 
time  of  the  attack  or  afterwards  from  wounds  in 
flicted  either  intentionally  or  inadvertently  by  those 
who  had  been  sent  to  the  prado  to  quell  an  uprising 
of  the  Cuban  populace. 

As  the  woman  we  have  before  described  entered 
the  rude  shelter  where  the  dead  bodies  of  several  of 
the  residents  of  the  little  village  lay,  she  was  sur 
prised  and  grieved  by  the  number  of  the  dead  and, 
also,  by  the  many  mourners  who  crowded  among  the 
slabs  on  which  the  bodies  lay,  for  there  was  little 

61 


62  An  American 

of  orderly  array  there,  everything  being  of  the  rudest 
arid  most  primitive  pattern  as  the  reigning  govern 
ment  did  not  wish  to  dignify  those  who  had  opposed 
it  even  after  death  had  taken  from  their  limbs  the 
power  to  oppose  anything  in  the  world  of  men  and 
women. 

The  woman,  who  was  of  a  higher  class  than  most 
of  those  assembled  there,  was  treated  with  marked 
deference  as  became  her  superior  position  both  as 
to  wealth  and  education,  for  the  widow  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  occupied  a  proud  place  in  her  own  right, 
having  been,  for  a  long  time,  the  occupant  of  a  large 
and  beautiful  residence  that  commanded  a  wide  view 
of  the  harbor  of  Havana  and  was  situated  on  an 
elevation  above  the  little  village  of  San  Domingo ; 
this  home  had  been  hers  long  before  she  had  ever 
met  the  handsome  peon  whom  she  had  acknowledged 
as  her  husband  to  Father  Felix  after  having  learned 
of  his  death. 

It  was  through  her  own  instigation  that  the  man 
had  taken  the  position  which  had,  subsequently, 
placed  him  among  the  prisoners  for  offenses  against 
the  reigning  government  who  had  been  liberated 
under  her  direct  orders  and  with  her  pronounced 
sanction,  although  she  had  not  actually  taken  part 
in  the  work  which  she  had  directed. 

This  woman  was  of  another  type  entirely  as  com 
pared  with  the  others  in  that  small  dwelling  and 
walked  among  them  almost  haughtily  in  spite  of  her 


An  American  63 

eagerness  in  the  search  after  evidence  that  would  con 
vince  her  that  she  had  not  been  utterly  mistaken 
in  the  man  she  had  secretly  married,  believing  him  to 
represent  the  finest  and  highest  example  of  patriotic 
courage  and  devotion  that  she  had  met  during  the 
whole  of  her  long  residence  in  the  Island  of  Cuba. 

She  had  come  to  the  Island,  in  her  first  youth,  as 
the  daughter  of  the  American  Consul  who  repre 
sented  the  United  States  in  the  council  chambers 
where  were  gathered  those  who  discussed  affairs  of 
state  with  the  ruling  Spanish  powers;  her  father 
had  purchased  the  beautiful  site  on  which  he  had 
built  the  home  that  was  still  hers,  although  both  of 
her  parents  had  died,  there  in  Cuba,  within  the  past 
few  years ;  the  girl  had  been  left  practically  without 
living  relatives,  and,  so,  loving  her  Island  home,  she 
had  remained  there  in  spite  of  the  solicitations  of 
many  American  friends  who  had  visited  her  in  Cuba 
and  urged  her  to  return  to  the  United  States  with 
them;  she  was  of  a  reticent  and  retiring  disposition, 
loving  a  good  book  more  than  almost  anything  else 
in  the  world,  and  being  surrounded  by  a  splendid 
library,  her  time  was  fully  and  pleasantly  occupied, 
as  she  had  trustworthy  retainers  who  followed  her 
mandates  because  they  loved  to  fulfill  them  and  pitied 
her  loneliness  while  they  almost  worshiped  her  su 
perior  manners  and  style  of  speech  as  well  as  of 
living;  Father  Felix,  alone,  understood  her  mental 
attainments  and  was  greatly  bewildered  when  she 


64  An  American 

told  him  that  she  had  married  Victqrio  Colenzo  as 
he  considered  her  far  removed  from  the  peons  who 
were  the  regular  inhabitants  of  the  Island  and  among 
whom  he  labored  as  a  missionary  rather  than  as  an 
equal,  although  his  deep  humility  of  manner  always 
led  them  to  believe  that  he  was  on  their  own  level 
of  intelligence,  while  the  aloofness  of  this  one  woman 
set  her  apart  from  all  of  her  neighbors  and  made 
her  seem  to  them  like  a  being  from  another  and  a 
higher  world. 

As  she  walked  among  the  slabs  on  which  the  dead 
bodies  had  been  laid,  that  morning,  for  she  had  come 
down  from  her  home  early,  having  slept,  during  the 
past  night,  only  the  few  hours  preceding  her  meeting 
with  Father  Felix,  as  she  hoped  to  have  her  doubts 
set  at  rest  and  to  be  assured  that  the  man  she  had 
secretly  united  to  herself  by  marriage  was  still 
worthy  of  her  respect  and  love  which  she  had  given 
to  him  without  further  knowledge  of  his  character 
than  what  he  chose  to  exhibit  to  her  in  their  infre 
quent  meetings  prior  to  his  declaration  of  undying 
worship  and  deep  and  overpowering  love  for  herself 
as  well  as  of  patriotic  zeal  which  latter  emotion  she 
fully  sympathized  with,  as  she  regarded  it  as  similar 
in  many  ways  to  her  own  feeling  for  her  much-be 
loved  land  which  was  all  the  more  powerful  because 
of  her  isolation  from  others  of  her  own  nation,  she 
representing,  to  herself  at  least,  the  whole  of  the 
entire  broad  expanse  of  the  United  States ;  it  was  this 


An  American  65 

sympathy  with  the  ardent  patriotism  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  that  had  led  to  her  present  plight  for,  be 
lieving  him  to  possess  the  strong  feelings  for  his  na 
tive  land  which  he  had  professed  to  her  to  have,  she 
had  urged  his  participation  in  the  plot  which,  on  its 
discovery  by  the  Spanish  authorities,  had  plunged 
him,  with  others,  into  the  prison  from  which,  through 
her  own  earnest  efforts,  they  had  just  been  liberated, 
or,  at  least,  a  part  of  them. 

Now,  she  reached  the  side  of  the  farthest  slab  in 
that  small  room,  and  noticed,  at  once,  crouching 
down  beside  it,  a  fair-haired  girl  who  seemed,  be 
yond  all  doubt,  the  one  bereft  by  the  condition  of  the 
body  lying  there,  so  straight  and  still,  beneath  the 
rude  pall  that  had  been  thrown  over  it  so  that  even 
its  face  was  hidden  from  sight.  She  softly  touched 
the  mourner  on  the  shoulder  nearest  to  her  and 
whispered : 

"My  poor  Girl,  for  whom  do  you  mourn?  Is  it 
the  body  of  your  brother  lying  here,  or,  yet,"  she 
went  on,  hesitatingly,  for  a  horrible  suspicion  began 
to  thrust  its  ugly  head  before  her  vision,  "can  he 
who  lies  here  so  quietly  have  been,  maybe,  your  hus 
band?  You  are  young  but  I  know  well  that  the 
girls,  here,  marry  very  young  .  .  ." 

She  ended  haltingly,  for  the  girl  had  raised  her 
lovely  face,  tear-stained  and  drawn  by  sorrrow,  and 
looked  up  into  the  face  that  bent  so  near  to  her 
own: 


66  An  American 

"He  was  my  plighted  husband,  Lady;  he  would 
have  been  my  husband  had  death  not  intervened  to 
take  him  from  me !  I  love  him  so  .  .  ."  she  suddenly 
screamed  in  agony,  "I  love  him  so  ...  Victorio! 
Why  have  you  left  me  all  alone  in  a  cruel  world  to 
be  a  widow  before  I  was  a  wife?  Victorio  .  .  ." 

And,  then,  she  rose,  as  one  who  had  that  right, 
and  turned  the  pall  back  from  the  countenance  of 
him  who  lay  there  on  that  senseless  slab. 

The  other  woman  did  not  scream,  as  poor  Estrella 
had  .  .  .  she  did  not  even  move,  indeed,  but  stood 
as  if  she  had  been  carved  from  marble,  for  her  face 
was  almost  just  as  pale  as  death  itself  .  .  .  the  puls 
ing  blood  receded  from  her  cheeks  and  from  her 
trembling  lips  .  .  .  she  stood  so  tall  and  still  that 
the  poor  girl  became  conscious  of  her  in  spite  of 
her  own  grief  and  wondered  if  she,  also,  sought  to 
find  some  one  she  loved  among  the  dead;  with  that 
thought  in  her  mind,  she  stepped  back  from  the 
corpse  she  had  been  leaning  over,  and  said  to  her  who 
stood  there  silently  as  if  her  interest  in  the  affairs 
of  life  had,  suddenly,  ceased: 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  selfishness.  Are  you, 
too,  one  of  those  who  lost  some  loved  one  yesterday? 
Do  you  seek,  here,  in  this  sad  place,  the  body  of  one 
whom  you've  loved  as  I  have  loved  the  man  who  lies 
here  .  .  .  dead  .  .  .  before  me?" 

The  older  girl  was  silent,  for  she  could  not  talk 
to  poor  Estrella  as  she  wished  to  do  ...  as  she  had 


An  American  67 

meant  to  do  in  case  her  worst  fears  had  to  be  realized ; 
she  did  not  wish  to  add  a  single  hair's  weight  to  the 
sorrow  that  the  poor  girl  felt  for  him  who  had  been 
false  to  both  of  those  trusting  women  who  stood 
there  beside  his  corpse ;  she  did  not  wish  to  harm  the 
innocent  girl,  for  she  could  see  how  true  and  loving 
she  had  been  by  gazing,  only  for  a  moment,  in  her 
wide,  blue  eyes,  and,  yet,  it  was  her  right  and,  per 
haps,  it  was  also  her  duty,  to  the  man  who  had  been 
her  earthly  husband,  to  claim  his  body  and  to  bury 
it  as  would  become  the  husband  of  a  woman  such  as 
she  had,  always,  been ;  but,  as  he'd  always  begged  her 
to  keep  secret  their  marriage  which  had  taken  place 
in  Havana  instead  of  having  Father  Felix  marry 
them  at  his  request,  for  political  reasons,  he  had  told 
her,  with  the  thought  that  she,  being  an  American, 
might  complicate  his  position  with  the  Spanish  gov 
ernment,  as  he  had  occupied  a  place  of  trust  under 
the  Governor,  until  the  proper  time  would  come  to  ex 
pose  his  actual  feelings  for  his  native  land. 

And,  so,  she  had  to  think  of  this  side  of  the  com 
plicated  problem  presented  to  her  by  her  strange 
position  while  she  stood  there  with  that  weeping, 
loving,  sympathetic,  untaught  girl  clinging  to  her 
hand  and  questioning  her.  At  length,  having  col 
lected  a  little  of  her  usual  unselfish  consideration  for 
the  people  living  on  the  Island,  she  turned  to  poor 
Estrella  and  said  to  her,  softly,  and,  yet,  without 
condescension  in  her  manner: 


68  An  American 

"Yes,  my  poor  Girl,  I,  also,  seek  someone  I  love 
among  the  newly  dead.  ...  I,  also,  wish  to  find  the 
man  I  loved  as  you  have  loved  the  man  who  lies 
here  on  this  slab.  ...  I,  also  .  .  ." 

Then,  her  courage  failed  her  utterly  and  she 
fainted  dead  away,  even  as  poor  Estrella,  herself, 
had,  when  she  had  first  beheld  the  body  of  the  man 
who  had  made  love  to  both  of  them. 

The  fair-haired  girl  bent  over  the  older  woman 
and  lifted  her  in  her  strong  arms  and  carried  her 
into  the  outer  air  and  found  the  carriage  where  it 
waited  for  its  mistress  and  placed  her  in  the  care  of 
those  who  served  her;  then,  for  the  first  time,  she 
realized  who  the  lady  was  who'd  found  her  there 
beside  her  dead,  as  she  supposed,  for  Victorio  had  no 
family  in  San  Domingo,  having  only  come  there  re 
cently,  and  having  held  himself  as  somewhat  superior 
to  the  most  of  his  own  countrymen  whom  he  met,  so 
poor  Estrella  claimed  his  body  as  having  been  his 
sweetheart,  since  he  had,  as  she  believed,  no  wife  in 
all  the  world,  for  he  had  often  told  her  he  had  never 
found  a  woman  he  could  love  before  he  met  her. 

Now,  she  helped  to  chafe  the  hands  of  her  who  lay 
there  in  that  costly  carriage  with  her  brown  hair 
making  a  soft  frame  for  her  pale  face  which  lay 
upon  the  lap  of  one  who  loved  her  with  the  kind  of 
love  an  ignorant,  older  woman  gives  to  one  she  much 
admires  and  who  is  far  superior  to  her  in  every  pos 
sible  way;  this  woman  smoothed  the  fluffy  hair  back 


An  American  69 

from  the  high  white  brow,  now,  and  spoke  to  her  as 
if  she  were  her  baby  instead  of  one  whom  she  looked 
up  to  and  respected: 

"There  .  .  .  there!  My  Pretty!  Open  your 
sweet  eyes  and  look  at  your  own  loving  Mage!"  she 
said,  as  the  long,  brown  lashes  that  fringed  the  deli 
cate  white  lids  still  brushed  the  rounded  cheeks  that 
were  almost  as  white  as  the  smooth  brow.  "Look 
up  at  me  and  let  me  see  your  shining  eyes,  again!" 

"Her  heart  is  beating,  now,  more  regularly."  said 
Estrella,  for  her  hand  had  sought  the  other's  bosom 
to  see  if  she  stih1  lived  at  all.  "She  breathes  more 
easily,  too.  I  think  she  will  recover  very  soon  .  .  . 
poor  Lady !  She  sympathized  with  me  in  my  great 
sorrow  so  deeply  that  she  fainted.  How  sweet  and 
dear  she  is !"  she  added,  softly,  as  a  shudder  shook 
the  form  before  her.  "How  very  sweet  and  dear  she 
is.  You  must  love  her  very  much  indeed.  .  .  . 
I  never  happened  to  see  her  before  today,  but  I  know 
who  she  is,  now,  and  how  very  kind  she  has  been 
to  so  many  of  our  people." 

"I  wish  the  color  would  creep  back  into  her  cheeks 
.  .  ."  moaned  Mage.  "Her  cheeks  are  almost  always 
rosy  as  the  dawn  ...  it  seems  so  strange  to  see 
them  white  .  .  .  she  don't  look  natural  to  me  this 
way  .  .  .  you  should  see  her  when  she  thinks  her 
husband's  coming  to  the  house  .  .  .  then  her  cheeks 
are  like  a  flame  of  light  .  .  .  her  eyes  are  just  as 
bright  as  stars  at  midnight  .  .  .  there!  They've 


70  An  American 

opening,  now  .  .  .  my  Pretty  .  .  .  my  own  pretty 
Dear  .  .  .  Mage  is  here  .  .  .  I'm  right  here  by  you 
Dearie  .  .  .  there!  I'm  afraid  she's  fainted  away, 
again.  She  seemed  to  look  at  you,  Estrella,  stand 
farther  back  so,  when  she  opens  her  eyes  next  time, 
she'll  see  just  me  ...  she  knows  old  Mage  loves 
her  always  .  .  .  she  knows  her  own  old  Mage  would 
take  good  care  of  her  no  matter  what  would  come. 
.  .  .  Dearie  ...  I  am  right  here  .  .  .  old  Mage  is 
close  beside  you  .  .  ." 

At  that,  the  woman  lying  there  within  her  faith 
ful  arms,  stirred  softly,  and,  once  again,  her  glorious 
gray  eyes  opened,  and  she  looked  at  poor  old  Mage 
whose  face  was  all  distraught  with  many  wrinkles 
and  with  deep  anxiety  for  her.  Then  she  raised  her 
self  to  a  sitting  posture  and  put  her  hands  before 
her  eyes  as  if  to  hide  some  horrible  spectre  from 
her  sight,  and,  then,  she  looked  at  poor  Estrella 
standing  there  not  knowing  what  to  do,  for  Mage 
would  not  allow  her,  even  now,  to  come  a  single  step 
nearer  to  her  mistress,  and  then  she  spoke : 

"My  poor  Girl,"  she  said,  "My  poor  Girl,  I  too, 
sought  to  find  the  man  I  loved,  but  his  body  is  not 
here.  I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart  and  wish  that 
I  could  help  you  bear  your  sorrow.  Come  to  me 
and  I  will  try  to  help  you  .  .  .  come  this  evening, 
just  at  sunset,  to  my  house.  I  think  you  know  which 
one  it  is.  ...  Mage,  you  tell  her  where  to  come." 

For  she  had  reached  the  limit  of  her  endurance, 


An  American  71 

for  the  moment,  and  old  Mage,  seeing  her  evident 
distress,  hurriedly  told  Estrella  where  to  come  to 
find  her  mistress,  and  gave  the  orders  to  the  coach 
man  to  drive  home  at  once. 

And,  then,  Estrella  went  again  into  the  habita 
tion  of  the  dead  and  the  other  woman,  with  her  heart 
like  lead  within  her  breast,  went  back  to  her  own 
place  and  left  the  body  of  the  man  she'd  called  her 
husband  for  a  few  short  months  lying  there  upon 
that  senseless  slab  with  the  weeping  girl  beside  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  the  evening  shadows  were  falling  over  the 
almost  palatial  home  of  Ruth  Wakefield,  the  young 
girl  whom  she  had  begged  to  come  to  her  climbed 
the  rugged  height  upon  which  the  former  United 
States  Consul  had  erected  his  residence  hoping  to 
occupy  it  long  after  his  term  of  office  should  expire 
as  he  had  found  the  climate  very  beneficial  to  the 
health  of  his  entire  family,  as  it  seemed,  and  desired 
to  have  a  fitting  place  of  abode  during  the  childhood 
of  his  only  and  much-loved  child,  who,  now,  a  sorrow 
ing  widow  and  a  humiliated  wife,  was  sitting  idly 
waiting  to  receive  poor  Estrella,  not  knowing,  cer 
tainly,  just  what  she  would  do  or  say  when  she  had 
to  really  face  the  situation  into  which  she  had  been 
forced  by  untoward  circumstances. 

As  Estrella  reached  the  rear  door,  to  which  she 
had  gone  by  an  almost  unerring  instinct,  feeling 
strange  and  unnatural  among  the  rich  surroundings, 
old  Mage  appeared  to  welcome  her,  as  she  had  been 
directed  by  her  mistress  to  do;  the  old  woman  was 
greatly  in  doubt  as  to  the  condition  of  affairs  in  the 
home  she  loved  to  be  a  part  of  and  had  longed  to 
get  hold  of  the  peon  girl  alone. 

72 


An  American  73 

There  was  something  about  Ruth  Wakefield  that 
commanded  the  respect  of  even  the  lowest  among 
those  who  knew  her  .  .  .  her  natural  refinement  had 
been  accentuated  by  her  seclusion  from  the  outer 
world  and  by  her  almost  constant  thought  of  higher 
and  better  matters  than  the  gross  and  humdrum  af 
fairs  of  the  daily  life  by  which  she  was  surrounded. 
Yet,  she  always  entered  into  practical  affairs  with 
vigor  and  entire  understanding,  so  that,  while  she 
was  counted  as  a  dreamer  of  dreams  beyond  the 
earth,  yet  she  was  acknowledged  to  be  eminently 
practical  and  able  to  attend  to  her  own  business 
affairs  with  no  danger  of  being  over-reached  by  those 
with  whom  she  dealt  as  to  monetary  matters,  as  her 
natural  acumen  in  such  matters  had  been  sharpened 
by  various  experiences  of  a  more  or  less  unpleasant 
character,  such  as  the  loss  of  certain  sums  of  money 
through  trusting  to  the  honor  of  some  of  those  with 
whom  she  had  had  sympathy  in  their  need,  for  she 
had  discovered  that,  when  it  comes  to  money,  people 
are  very  apt  to  forget  their  obligations  entirely,  only 
attending  to  that  part  of  life  when  in  need  them 
selves  and  not  considering  the  fact  that,  unless  one 
gets  what  is  one's  due,  at  least  to  some  extent,  one 
cannot,  on  the  other  hand,  meet  one's  own  obliga 
tions,  so  that  the  lonely  girl  had  learned  some  hard 
lessons  by  practical  knowledge  of  human  nature 
gained  in  the  only  school  where  such  knowledge  can 
be  gained  .  .  .  experience. 


74  An  American 

But  old  Mage  was  of  a  far  different  type  of 
womankind  .  .  .  true  as  steel  to  her  beloved  young 
lady  as  she  always  called  her  in  her  thoughts,  al 
though  she  often  found  verbal  fault  with  her  to  her 
fair  and  tender  face  .  .  .  fond  of  gossip  and  gar 
rulous  to  an  almost  alarming  extent  yet  she  could 
keep  a  secret  as  inviolate  as  even  Ruth  Wakefield  her 
self. 

At  this  moment,  her  great  desire  was  to  worm 
out  of  poor  Estrella  whatever  it  was  that  had  made 
her  own  young  lady  faint  that  morning  .  .  .  she 
was  not  worried  about  the  poor  girl's  loss  of  him 
she  had  called  her  lover  except  in  so  far  as  it  affected 
her  own  people  as  she  was  fond  of  distinguishing 
them,  for  old  Mage,  although  uneducated  and  almost 
unaware  of  her  own  nationality  as  her  mother  had 
died  at  her  birth  and  her  father  had  immediately 
deserted  her,  yet  prided  herself  on  being  far  superior 
to  the  natives  among  whom  she  dwelt,  for  she  had 
come  to  Cuba  with  the  Wakefield  family,  having  been 
employed  by  them  as  nurse  for  the  small  Ruth  and 
having  stuck  tightly  to  her  charge  from  that  time 
on. 

So  that,  when  she  faced  the  poor,  ignorant,  as  she 
secretly  considered  Estrella,  girl,  it  was  with  an  air 
of  superiority  as  belonging  to  a  higher  race  than 
she,  for  it  is  a  fact  that  uneducated  persons  feel 
any  elevation  above  their  fellows  much  more  strongly 
than  those  who  have  had  more  insight  into  the  humble 


An  American  75 

attainments  of  even  the  wisest  of  human  beings,  for 
those  who  have  been  permitted  to  climb  the  heights 
of  thought  have  had  a  glimpse  of  the  vastness  and 
unattainable  grandeur  of  which  even  the  highest 
human  intellect  must  only  be  a  spectator  ...  an 
humble  and  admiring  witness  of  the  matcldess  beauty 
and  majestic  splendor  that  dwell  beyond  and  yet 
beyond  the  vision  of  the  keenest  human  imagination. 

But  old  Mage  seldom  allowed  herself  even  to 
wonder  about  what  she  could  not  understand,  being 
content  with  the  plane  of  existence  upon  which  she 
found  herself  and  finding  amusement  and  profit  as 
well  in  attending  to  the  various  small  duties  of  her 
daily  life  as  she  performed  those  duties  through  love 
and  pride.  Having  seated  the  girl  who  was  almost 
overpowered,  already,  by  the  unknown  glamour  of 
wealthy  surroundings,  she  proceeded  to  follow  out 
her  own  ideas  and  to  attempt  to  satisfy  her  own 
curiosity  before  apprising  Ruth  of  the  arrival  of  her 
invited  guest. 

She  began  by  commiserating  the  girl  upon  her 
recent  loss,  little  dreaming  that,  in  this  way,  she 
would  find  out  far  more  than  had  been  her  own 
desire,  for  old  Mage,  while  she  had  never  liked  the 
young  man  who,  for  the  past  few  months,  had  been 
an  almost  daily  visitor  at  the  home  she  dearly  loved, 
yet  had  tried  to  think  that  her  young  lady  had 
chosen  wisely,  even  if  unconventionally,  when  she 
had  married  him,  as  it  was  very  hard  for  her  ever 


76  An  American 

to  really  question  any  object  upon  which  Ruth  had 
set  her  heart,  it  having  been  one  of  the  criticisms 
of  the  parents  of  the  little  girl  that  old  Mage  had 
always  indulged  her  slightest  whim  and  always  sat 
isfied  at  least  her  own  conscience  by  finding  some 
good  reason  for  the  indulgence;  in  the  present  in 
stance,  she  had  often  said  to  herself : 

"My  poor  child  is  alone  so  much  with  her  own 
thoughts  and  what  she  gets  out  of  all  those  big 
books,"  for  what  anyone  could  find  in  the  way  of 
company  in  a  book  which  required  so  much  labor, 
in  her  own  case,  to  decipher  at  all  was  a  mystery  to 
her,  "and  she  needs  company  ...  a  woman  needs 
a  man  around  to  make  love  to  her  and  this  fellow 
is  good  at  that  what  with  his  guitar  and  his  mandolin 
and  his  fine  voice,  not  to  speak  of  his  wonderful  dark 
eyes  and  his  curly  black  hair  and  his  strong,  power 
ful  figure  .  .  .  it  is  too  bad  that  he  is  only  a  native 
Cuban  instead  of  an  American  .  .  .  that  is  too  bad 
.  .  .  but  .  .  ."  she  would  end,  brightly,  "he  can  be 
naturalized  if  we  ever  go  back  to  the  States." 

So,  now,  when  she  turned  to  Estrella  with  the  con 
ventional  question  as  to  the  identity  of  her  lover  on 
her  ready  tongue,  she  little  dreamed  of  the  con 
sequences  : 

"My  poor  girl,"  she  began,  "you  were  to  have 
been  married,  they  tell  me,  to  the  man  who  was  found 
dead  at  the  entrance  to  the  prison,  last  night.  ...  I 


An  American  77 

wonder  if  I  happened  to  know  him  .  .  .  what  was 
his  name?" 

She  had  asked  the  question  idly,  wishing  only  to 
engage  the  girl  in  conversation  to  find  out  whatever 
she  could. 

"My  lover  was  a  wonderful  man  .  .  ."  declared 
Estrella;  "he  was  not  a  common  man  at  all  ...  he 
was  superior  to  all  the  men  I  know  or  ever  have 
known  ...  he  was  the  handsomest  as  well  as  the 
most  intelligent  man  among  the  whole  people  of  this 
Island,  I  think.  ...  I  know  I  never  saw  anyone 
either  so  handsome  or  so  smart  as  was  my  dear 
Victorio.  ...  I  don't  suppose  you  would  ever  have 
met  him  for  he  was  not  a  servant  and  yet  he  was 
a  Cuban  ...  he  was  a  wonderful  man  and  I  was  to 
have  been  his  wife  and  he  was  most  foully  murdered 
there  in  that  hateful  prison." 

And  the  poor  bereft  creature  began  to  moan  and 
sob  and  wring  her  hands  in  agony  of  spirit. 

This  was  not  at  all  what  Mage  desired  to  do 
...  to  get  the  girl  all  wrought  up  before  her 
young  lady  even  saw  her,  so  she  tried  to  comfort  and 
calm  her  by  speaking  rather  sharply  to  her  as  she 
knew  hysteria  can  only  be  overcome  by  the  applica 
tion  of  fierce  remedies,  or,  at  least,  that  is  what 
she  had  been  taught,  so,  in  order  to  cauterize  the 
wound  her  words  seemed  to  have  made,  she  said: 

"You  say  your  lover  was  a  superior  man  .  .  .  was 


78  An  American 

he,  then,  a  leader  among  the  political  prisoners  who 
were  liberated?" 

"Indeed  he  was  .  .  ."  proudly  answered  the  be 
reaved  girl.  "Victorio  Colenzo  was  a  leader  where- 
ever  he  went  .  .  .  why  .  .  ." 

But  even  her  pride  in  her  dead  lover  did  not  hide 
from  her  the  effect  his  name  had  had  on  poor  old 
Mage  for  she  had  crumpled  down  in  her  chair  as 
if  she  had  received  a  stroke  of  some  kind  and  seemed 
as  if  paralyzed,  for  her  poor  old  mouth  fell  open, 
revealing  its  entire  innocence  of  teeth;  she  gasped 
for  breath  for  a  moment  and  then  demanded: 

"Say  that  name  again!  What  kind  of  looking 
man  was  he?" 

Hastening  to  comply  with  the  demand  made  on 
her,  the  girl  proceeded,  proudly: 

"His  name  was  Victorio  Colenzo  and  he  was  the 
handsomest  man  in  the  whole  of  Cuba,  I  believe  .  .  . 
his  eyes  were  very  dark  and  expressive  and  his  hair 
was  the  very  most  beautiful  curly  hair  that  ever  grew 
on  any  human  head  ...  he  was  tall  and  strong  and 
handsome  in  every  way  and,  yet,'*  she  ended  dreamily, 
"and,  yet,  he  never  loved  a  woman  in  his  life  before 
he  found  me." 

Old  Mage  had  other  words  upon  her  lips  than 
those  which  she  said  after  having  hauled  herself  up 
sharply,  remembering  how  unprotected  her  dear 
young  lady  was  and  wishing,  above  all  else,  even 


An  American  79 

her  own  almost  insatiable  curiosity,  to  shield  her 
from  any  harm: 

"It  must  be  a  great  comfort  to  you  to  know  that, 
now  that  he  is  dead  and  gone."  she  said  to  the  girl, 
though  what  she  added  in  her  own  mind  may  as  well 
not  be  recorded  here,  for,  with  all  the  fierceness  of 
the  far-famed  tiger  with  her  young,  old  Mage,  in 
her  own  primitive  mind,  was  wishing  several  distinct 
kinds  of  punishment  would  fall,  in  its  immediate 
future,  upon  the  soul  of  the  man  who  had  brought 
sorrow  to  her  dear,  innocent  lamb.  As  far  as  the 
girl  was  concerned  she  felt  that  she  had  had  more 
than  her  just  deserts  already  and  wished  to  relieve 
her  young  lady  of  any  further  torture  regarding 
the  mixed  matter,  for  old  Mage,  though  an  ignorant 
woman  in  many  ways,  had  lived  a  great  many  ob 
servant  years  among  human  men  and  women,  and, 
now,  that  her  experience  might  serve  to  protect  Ruth 
in  this  hard  crisis  of  her  young  womanhood,  she 
threw  herself  and  all  her  previous  knowledge  of 
the  world  right  into  the  breach.  She  reflected  only 
for  a  few  moments  after  having  made  the  diplomatic 
speech  referred  to  above,  before  she  decided  on  a 
course  of  immediate  action. 

To  begin  with,  she  decided  to  clear  the  decks,  as 
it  were,  of  the  obstruction  of  the  girl's  presence  in 
the  home  of  the  wronged  wife;  she  went  about  this 
with  precision  and  dispatch,  for,  once  she  had  settled 


80  An  American 

on  any  certain  course,  old  Mage  was  like  a  mild 
whirlwind,  scattering  everything  before  her: 

"Well,"  she  began,  eyeing  the  girl  suspiciously, 
wondering  whether  she  had  any  inkling  of  the  exact 
situation,  "I  suppose  you  have  folks  to  live  with  and 
are  not  in  need  of  anything  much?" 

"I  am  alone  in  this  wide  world,"  declared  Estrella, 
"  for  I  am  but  a  foster  child  among  the  people  who 
have  brought  me  up  ...  my  parents  I  know  noth 
ing  of  but  believe  that  I  am  not  of  Cuban  blood.  .  .  . 
I  think  .  .  ."  she  hesitated,  "I  think  ...  I  am 
...  an  American,  the  same  as  the  sweet  young  lady 
who  lives  here  with  you." 

The  last  few  words  almost  undid  old  Mage's  stern 
resolve,  but  she  kept  her  one  idea  of  saving  her  young 
lady  from  further  annoyance  in  view  and  answered 
this  appeal : 

"It  don't  make  much  difference  in  this  world 
who  you  are  but  it  does  matter  what  you  are  .  .  . 
now,  I  take  it,  you  are  a  good  girl  and  will  marry 
some  good  man  when  you  have  recovered  from  this 
loss  .  .  .  you  are  too  young  to  feel  this  as  deeply 
as  you  might  ...  I  hope  so,  anyway  .  .  ."  she 
temporized,  seeing  the  look  of  despair  that  settled 
on  Estrella's  really  beautiful  and  innocent  features, 
"and  my  young  lady  wanted  me  to  help  you  if  you 
needed  any  help  for  she  feels  so  sorry  that  your 
lover  happened  to  be  killed  just  as  he  was  about 
to  get  free  .  .  .  she  wanted  me  to  tell  you  .  .  ."  but 


An  American  81 

at  that  point  in  her  benevolent  intention  she  was  in 
terrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the  mistress  of  the 
place,  and  ended,  rather  lamely,  "she  wanted  me  to 
tell  you  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  you  got  here." 
"Why,  Mage,"  said  Ruth  in  her  usual  sweet,  low 

I 

voice,  "you  had  not  told  me  that  Estrella  had  come 
.  .  .  have  you  been  waiting  for  me  very  long?" 
she  kindly  asked  the  girl. 

"No,  Madam,"  said  Estrella  feeling  the  immense 
difference  in  their  positions  in  spite  of  the  evident 
indisposition  and  tender  youth  of  the  other  woman, 
"I  have  only  rested  for  a  few  moments  after  my 
climb  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  It  was  very  kind,"  she 
added,  "of  you  to  ask  me  to  come  and  the  cool  air 
of  the  evening  has  refreshed  my  head  for  it  has  been 
aching  terribly,  all  day." 

"Can't  you  find  some  sort  of  refreshments  for  her, 
Mage?"  asked  Ruth,  feeling  sorry  for  the  other's 
plight.  "Maybe  a  good  cup  of  tea  would  give  you 
added  strength  to  bear  your  great  sorrow  ...  we 
women,"  she  said  while  her  sweet,  low  voice  trembled, 
"we  women  are  but  weak  and  yet  often  the  very 
heaviest  of  sorrows  is  laid  upon  us.  ...  I  do  not 
know  the  reason  for  this  ...  I  do  not  understand 
.  .  .  but  I  believe  that  we  are  all  but  a  part  of  a 
very  great  plan  which  is  beyond  our  comprehension 
while  we  are  here  in  this  finite  world,  and  I  hope  .  .  ." 
she  had  the  look  of  one  of  God's  good  angels  on  her 
face  as  she  said  it,  "and  I  hope  to  know  more  about 


82  An  American 

this  great  plan  when  I  have  passed  beyond  this 
world  and  all  its  many  disappointments.  You  have 
had  a  terrific  blow,  my  poor  Girl,"  she  went  on, 
kindly.  "You  alone  must  bear  this  grief  but  God  has 
sent  other  human  beings  into  this  human  life  so  that 
we  may  help  each  other,  if  only  by  our  mutual  sym 
pathy,  when  we  must  meet  what  it  seems  almost  im 
possible  for  us  to  bear  alone  .  .  .  so,"  she  ended, 
"so,  maybe  I  have  been  sent  to  try  to  give  you 
courage  to  go  on  in  life  when  your  future  must  look 
dreadfully  black  to  you." 

"It  surely  does  look  black  .  .  ."  moaned  poor 
Estrella,  "Victorio  was  all  I  had  to  lean  upon  in  this 
wide  world  for  I  don't  belong  to  the  people  where 
I  live  and  Manuello  persists  in  making  love  to  me 
and  I  can't  bear  to  have  him  touch  me  after  having 
known  the  love  of  a  man  who  never  even  looked  at 
any  other  woman  but  me,  and  who  was,"  her  pride 
in  her  dead  lover  again  taking  the  ascendency  in 
her  emotions,  "the  handsomest  and  smartest  man 
who  ever  came  to  Cuba." 

"The  low-lived  pup  !"  said  old  Mage,  who  had  just 
come  in  with  the  tea-tray  in  her  hands  and  heard  the 
last  few  words,  but  she  made  this  remark  to  her 
self  alone  and  would  have  ground  her  teeth  in  making 
it  had  it  not  happened  that  she  had  mislaid  those 
triumphs  of  the  dentist's  art,  for  old  Mage  was  the 
proud  possessor  of  two  entire  sets  of  teeth,  although 
she  seldom  could  lay  her  hands  on  them  as  she  in- 


An  American  83 

variably  removed  them  from,  her  mouth  each  time  she 
wished  to  eat  anything,  having  grown  so  accustomed 
to  gumming  her  food  that  the  teeth  were  dreadfully 
in  her  way. 

She  set  the  tea-tray  with  its  array  of  cups  and 
saucers  down  and  added  several  little  concoctions  of 
her  own  making  to  the  little  feast  before  she  began, 
thinking  to  change  the  subject: 

"Dear  Miss  Ruth,  I  wish  you  could  have  seen 
little  Tid-i-wats  a  few  minutes  ago ;  she  was  out  in 
the  big  yard  and  I  wanted  her  to  come  back  in  her 
own  place  so  as  to  be  safe  and  so  instead  of  going 
to  pick  her  up  as  you  know  very  well  she  won't  allow 
anyone  to  do  except  yourself,  I  just  got  one  of  her 
saucers  and  a  silver  spoon  and  pounded  on  the  edge 
of  the  saucer  with  the  spoon,  and  here  she  came 
fairly  bounding  along  the  driveway;  she  galloped, 
Miss  Ruth,  just  like  a  little  colt  out  in  one  of  Our 
own  big  pastures,  back  home." 

"The  dear  little  Daditts!"  exclaimed  her  young 
lady,  using  a  pet  name  of  her  own  making.  "How 
cute  she  must  have  looked  .  .  .  she  is  so  little,"  she 
explained  to  Estrella,  "she  is  so  very  small  and  so 
very  cute  ...  I  have  had  her  with  me,  now,  for 
.  .  .  how  long  is  it,  Mage?"  for  she  knew  the  old 
woman  enjoyed  being  asked  for  information,  "since 
we  came  from  America  the  last  time?" 

"Let  me  see  .  .  ."  answered  Mage,  deliberating, 
"it  must  be  anyway  twelve  years  and  Tid-i-wats  was 


84  An  American 

not  a  young  cat,  even  then,  for  she  had  raised  one 
family  of  kittens  at  least  .  .  .  she  must  be  thirteen 
or  more  years  old,  my  Dear,"  she  said  to  the  young 
girl,  hoping  to  attract  her  attention  to  herself  and 
so  leave  Ruth  free  from  her  immediate  scrutiny, 
"just  think  of  that!  You  must  come  with  me,  when 
you  have  had  your  tea,  and  see  the  cute  little  yard 
we  have  for  her  and  then  you  must  look  over  the 
grounds  with  me.  Miss  Ruth  is  not  feeling  very  well, 
today,  although  she  has  such  a  healthy-looking,  rosy 
face,  and,  so,  I'll  entertain  you  while  you're  here; 
Miss  Ruth  is  a  great  reader  and  her  eyes  are  not 
very  strong  .  .  .  sometimes  the  sun  hurts  them 
awfully." 

And  Ruth  let  here  have  her  way,  that  time,  as 
she  found  that  she  could  scarcely  endure  the  calm, 
blue,  staring  eyes  of  the  girl  and  listen  to  her  in 
nocent  gabble  concerning  her  own  husband;  so  she 
called  oM  Mage  into  another  room  and  cautioned 
her  to  be  very  kind  to  poor  Estrella  and  gave  her 
quite  a  sum  of  money  to  hand  to  her,  thinking,  in 
this  manner  to  defray  the  funeral  expenses  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  believed  to  be  the  very  soul  of 
honor  fired  with  an  almost  holy  patriotism. 

Old  Mage  received  her  directions  quietly  enough 
and  used  her  own  good  judgment  as  to  carrying  them 
all  out ;  her  main  idea  was  to  relieve  her  mistress  and 
this  she  did  by  assuring  her  that  she  would  look 
after  the  girl  and  would  ask  her  to  come  to  see  them 


An  American  85 

again  when  she  had  in  some  measure  recovered  from 
her  sorrow. 

What  she  was  saying  to  her  own  self  we  will  not 
record  but  she  relieved  her  own  feelings,  while  at 
tempting  to  help  Estrella  who  was  as  innocent  as  her 
own  young  lady  was,  as  she  could  see,  for  old  Mage 
was  seldom  mistaken  in  her  estimate  of  women,  al 
though  men,  as  she  expressed  it,  quite  often  "pulled 
the  wool  over  her  eyes.'* 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  the  young  girl  descended  the  hill  to  the  little 
village  she  reflected  upon  the  splendor  of  the  home 
she  had  just  quitted  and  wondered  if  such  wealth 
as  was  displayed  there  could  take  the  place  of  the 

I 

companionship  of  a  loved  and  loving  human  being; 
she  remembered  the  very  sad  expression  of  the  great 
gray  eyes  into  which  she  had  peered  for  a  few  fleet 
ing  moments  and  she  marveled  at  the  memory,  for, 
as  it  seemed  to  the  inexperience  of  Estrella,  Ruth 
Wakefield  should  have  been  as  happy  as  a  queen  in 
deed  for  she  had  the  proud  position,  almost,  of 
royalty  among  the  peons  to  whose  constant  society 
she,  herself,  had  had  to  be  accustomed  from  her 
earliest  recollection  of  society  at  all. 

In  spite  of  her  own  great  sorrow  on  account  of  the 
sudden  death  of  Victorio  Colenzo  she  felt  comforted, 
somehow,  by  the  memory  of  the  vital  nearness  of 
the  woman  who  was  so  much  her  superior,  as  it 
seemed  to  her,  in  every  possible  way;  she  could  not 
know  that  in  Ruth  Wakefield's  gentle  bosom  there 
throbbed  a  deeper  and  more  lasting  agony  than  any 
that  she,  herself,  had  ever  experienced  .  .  .  she  only 
saw  her  own  position  among  those  who  had  little 

86 


An  American  87 

sympathy  for  her,  as  all  the  girls  she  knew  well, 
except  little  Tessa,  envied  her  as  having  been  the 
sweetheart  of  a  man  they  all  admired,  and  the 
young  men,  feeling  that  she  was  superior,  in  many 
ways,  to  the  girls  of  their  own  type,  were  jealous 
of  the  handsome  Colenzo  who  had  won  so  easily  what 
they  had  failed  to  even  attract. 

Chief  among  these  latter  was  Manuello  who  called 
himself  her  half-brother,  half  in  derision  and  half 
in  rough  sport,  for  well  he  knew  that  no  similar  blood 
flowed  through  their  veins  as  Estrella  had  been  taken 
care  of  by  his  own  mother  simply  from  motives  of 
pity  for  a  deserted  and  helpless  orphan ;  this  loving 
and  unselfish  mother  had  passed  away  some  time  be 
fore  the  opening  of  this  tale  and  Estrella  had  taken 
full  charge  of  the  household  affairs  of  the  family 
among  whom  she  had  grown  up,  as  being  the  eldest 
of  the  girls,  having  always  been  of  a  domestic  turn 
of  mind  and  wishing  to  repay  the  kindness  of  those 
who  had  cared  for  her  when  she  was  unable  to  do  so. 

As  she  walked  along  she  remembered  several  little 
duties  for  her  to  perform  yet  that  night,  although 
she  felt  that  she  wished  to  devote  her  entire  attention 
to  the  funeral  arrangements  that  she  had  made  for 
poor  Victorio  whose  mangled  remains  still  lay  at  the 
improvised  morgue  in  the  village. 

Reflecting  on  these  arrangements,  she  remembered 
the  money  that  old  Mage  had  given  to  her  which  was 
yet  clutched  in  the  hand  that  had  received  it;  hear- 


88  An  American 

ing  a  slight  noise  in  the  path  ahead  of  her,  she  hastily 
thrust  the  money  into  the  bosom  of  her  gown  and  ad 
vanced,  cautiously,  for  there  was  much  unrest  all 
over  the  Island  of  Cuba  at  this  time  and  no  one  was 
really  safe,  either  at  home  or  abroad,  as  the  Gover 
nor-General  had  issued  positive  orders  to  arrest  with 
out  question  all  those  who  were,  in  any  manner,  detri 
mental  to  the  ruling  powers. 

Estrella  was  aware,  in  a  dim  and  uncertain  way, 
of  existing  conditions,  and,  having  been  a  participant 
in  the  recent  uprising,  she  was  afraid  that  she  might 
be  detained  by  the  government,  in  which  case,  how 
she  could  attend  to  the  sorrowful  duty  of  the  mor 
row  was  a  problem  too  big  for  her  to  solve  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment ;  with  the  thought  of  this  danger 
in  her  mind,  she  stepped  carefully  to  one  side  of  the 
narrow  path,  hoping  that  whoever  or  whatever  had 
made  the  noise  she  had  heard  would  pass  on  up  the 
hill  without  observing  her;  she  was  standing  as  still 
as  possible,  fairly  holding  her  breath  and  involun 
tarily  clutching  at  the  bundle  of  money  in  her  dress, 
when  she  became  conscious  of  the  approach  of  some 
one  or  something  from  behind  her  and  jumped,  like 
a  startled  fawn,  back  into  the  path  and  down  the 
hill  at  top  speed ;  she  knew  that  she  was  followed  but 
did  not  stop  until  she  had  reached  the  door  of  the 
little  cottage  where  she  made  her  home;  as  she 
pushed  madly  at  the  door  it  yielded  to  her  touch  too 
quickly  to  have  been  moved  by  herself  alone,  and, 


An  American  89 

hurridly  entering,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
Manucllo  who  pulled  her  hastily  inside  and  barred 
the  simple  door,  saying  testily : 

"Why  did  you  startle  me  so?  Had  I  not  known 
your  step,  I  would  have  kept  you  out  until  you  had 
told  me  who  you  were  .  .  .  don't  you  know  that 
we,  who  have  made  ourselves  conspicuous  in  the  re 
cent  uprising,  are  being  closely  watched  by  the  au 
thorities  and  are  liable  to  arrest  at  any  moment? 
Why  do  you  expose  us  in  this  manner  by  staying  out 
after  nightfall  and  perhaps  bringing  the  soldiers  who 
are  stationed  in  the  block-houses  upon  us?  Is  it  not 
enough  that  you  are  marked  as  being  the  sweetheart 
of  our  dead  leader?  Must  you  even  stray  about  the 
country-side  after  dark?" 

"Manuello  .  .  ."  panted  the  poor  girl,  "I  was  so 
frightened  .  .  .  someone  was  in  the  path  and  I 
jumped  to  one  side  and  then  someone  came  behind 
me  and  I  ran !  I  did  not  mean  to  do  wrong  ...  I 
went  to  see  the  lady  at  the  mansion  on  the  hill  .  .  . 
she  asked  me  to  come  for  she  pitied  me  because  of 
Victorio's  death.  ...  I  am  sorry  if  I  did  wrong  by 
going,  Manuello  ...  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me 
..."  she  ended,  pleadingly,  leaning  against  the 
door  with  one  hand  over  her  fluttering  heart  and 
looking  up  into  his  angry  eyes. 

His  countenance  softened  in  a  moment  as  he  gazed 
upon  her  delicate  beauty,  and  stretching  out  his 
arms  he  said  to  her: 


90  An  American 

"Rest,  little  Sister,  here,  here  upon  my  breast. 
All  the  others  are  asleep  and  you  and  I  are  alone. 
I  would  not  scold  you  for  the  world,  but  we  must 
all  be  as  cautious  as  we  can  for  we  are  living  in  very 
dangerous  times." 

Estrella  evaded  his  offered  embrace  and  hastened 
into  her  own  little  room  after  bidding  him  a  short 
goodnight;  she  wondered^  vaguely,  Vhat  it  was  that 
had  startled  her  in  the  path,  but,  in  spite  of  every 
thing,  her  healthy  youth  soon  asserted  itself  and 
she  was  lost  to  her  little  world  upon  the  earth  with 
all  its  many  disappointments  and  unknown  turnings. 

The  day  upon  which  Estrella  made  her  visit  to  the 
mansion  on  the  hill,  as  the  residence  of  Ruth  Wake- 
field  was  popularly  known  in  the  village  of  San 
Domingo,  was  a  memorable  one  in  the  history  of  the 
Spanish-American  war  for  it  happened  to  be  the  fif 
teenth  day  of  February  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  and 
Master  1898. 

Upon  that  fateful  day  secret  preparations  had 
been  made  by  the  agents  of  some  of  those  who  were 
then  in  power  over  the  people  of  Cuba  .  .  .  secret 
mines  had  been  laid  and  large  quantities  of  explo 
sives  had  been  placed  in  Havana  Harbor  with  a  set 
purpose  in  view;  many  of  those  who  had  been  incar 
cerated  in  political  prisons  had  been  kept  in  total 
ignorance  of  the  movements  of  Spanish  troops  in 
Cuba  but  most  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Island  had 
known  that,  for  somie  time,  some  definite  object  with 


An  American  91 

reference  to  our  own  United  States  was  being  con 
sidered  by  those  who  directed  the  Spanish  soldiery. 

Among  those  who  had  been  apprised  of  what  had 
been  going  on  during  the  confinement  of  those  who 
had  been  liberated  the  night  before  in  San  Domingo 
was  Manuello ;  during  the  absence  of  Estrella  from 
their  home,  that  evening,  this  redoubtable  warrior 
had  been  hobnobbing  with  the  Spanish  soldiers  in  the 
block-house  nearest  to  the  village  and  had  discovered 
something  of  the  plot  to  blow  up  a  United  States 
battleship  in  Havana  Harbor;  as  it  was  known 
that  the  Mame,  an  armored  cruiser  of  the  second- 
class,  had  been  lying  in  the  harbor  for  some  weeks, 
the  young  fellow  was  especially  nervous,  and,  hear 
ing  Estrella's  flying  feet  approaching  their  dwell 
ing,  he  dreaded  some  new  horror. 

The  little  village  of  San  Domingo  was  wrapped 
in  the  first  sound  slumber  of  the  night.  Good  Father 
Felix  had  been  dreaming,  for  some  hours,  of  the 
heavenly  home  he  hoped,  sometime,  to  reach;  old 
Mage  had  long  ago  forgotten  all  about  her  defense 
of  her  dear  young  lady,  that  day,  and  Estrella  was 
far  away  from  every  human  care. 

But  Ruth  Wakefield  was  one  of  those  who  never 
sleep  right  through  the  dark  hours  of  any  night; 
from  her  earliest  recollection,  she  had  been  wide 
awake,  with  a  clarified  vision  of  the  affairs  of  daily 
life  as  well  as  of  those  that  were  quite  beyond  the 
world  of  men  and  women  who  were  yet  embodied, 


92  An  American 

about  the  hour  of  two  A.  M.,  and,  when  she  had  some 
especially  knotty  problem  to  solve,  she  seldom  slept 
for  more  than  an  hour  or  so  at  a  time,  but  would 
waken  to  a  consciousness  of  the  facts  of  her  human 
existence  with  a  shock  that  would  almost  always 
cause  her  to  jump  as  if  struck  a  blow,  which,  indeed, 
was  the  exact  state  of  affairs,  only  the  blow  was  a 
mental  one. 

On  this  one  night,  having  lost  the  most  of  the 
sleep  she  should  have  had  upon  the  previous  one,  her 
bodily  strength  was  almost  entirely  exhausted  so 
that  she  sunk  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  sleep  during 
the  first  part  of  the  evening  and  woke,  with  a  start, 
about  nine  P.  M. 

Rising  from  her  bed,  as  was  her  custom  upon 
awakening  in  the  night,  she  approached  one  of  the 
large  windows  of  her  own  room  facing  Havana  Har 
bor  ;  she  could  see  the  lights  from  the  various  vessels 
lying  at  anchor  and  imagined  that  she  could  make 
out  those  of  the  Mame,  which,  as  it  represented  her 
own  native  land  to  her,  was,  naturally,  of  deep  in 
terest  to  her;  she  fell  to  imagining  how  it  would 
seem  to  return  to  the  United  States  on  that  great 
ship  lying  so  peacefully  and  appearing  to  be  so 
stanch  and  strong  in  the  harbor  below  her  window 
.  .  .  she  wondered  if  it  might  not  be  better  for  her, 
now  that  she  no  longer  had  the  keen  interest  in  Cuba 
that  she  had  only  recently  had,  to  go  back  to  her  own 
country  and  so  possibly  forget  the  dark  eyes  and 


An  American  93 

lying  lips  of  the  man  to  whom  she  had  given  her  vir 
ginity  only  to  find  it  flouted  and  treated  with  disdain ; 
for,  try  as  she  would  to  vindicate  Victorio  Colenzo, 
she  was  too  just  and  reasonable  to  deny  to  herself 
that  he  had  acted  the  part  of  a  sneaking  villian  both 
to  her  and  to  poor,  trusting  Estrella,  who  had  not 
had  to  see  her  dream  of  him  lying  in  fragments  at  her 
feet,  but  who  still  believed  that  he  had  spoken  the 
truth  to  her  when  he  had  told  her  that  she  was  the 
only  woman  he  had  ever  loved ;  she  was  too  young  to 
know  that  this  statement  is  a  regular  trite  and  tried 
prevarication,  common  to  almost  all  male  lovers. 

But  Ruth,  at  present,  was  laboring  under  no  de 
lusions  with  regard  to  the  man  she  had  married,  al 
though  his  dead  body  was  still  unburied  and  she  had 
not  so  much  as  said  a  prayer  over  his  remains  .  .  . 
she  knew  beyond  all  shadow  of  doubt  that  he  had 
been  untrue  to  both  of  the  women  he  had  professed  to 
love  in  San  Domingo,  and  her  mind  was  much  dis 
traught  as  she  sat  at  her  window  and  gazed  down 
upon  Havana  Harbor  upon  that  memorable  even 
ing  of  February  fifteenth,  eighteen  hundred  and 
ninety-eight. 

She  had  been  watching  a  little  boat  plying  back 
and  forth  between  the  wharf  and  the  battleship 
which  she  had  picked  out  among  the  other  black 
hulks  in  the  harbor  as  being  the  Maine,  and  was 
speculating,  idly,  what  it  could  be  about,  as  it 
seemed  busily  engaged  in  something  of  importance, 


94  An  American 

when,  all  at  once,  a  mighty  detonation  shook  the 
entire  harbor  and  the  adjacent  shore,  making  even 
her  own  stout  residence  tremble,  and,  where  the  ma 
jestic  battleship  had,  only  just  a  moment  before, 
been  a  thing  of  beauty  and  power,  there  was  nothing 
but  a  wild  mass  of  flying  debris  and  a  raging  fur 
nace  of  belching,  flaming  fire. 

Ruth  Wakefield  realized,  even  as  the  terrific  ex 
plosion  occurred,  that  here  was  a  turning  point  in 
the  affairs  of  state  and  that,  in  all  probability,  her 
own  country  would,  after  this,  become  involved  in 
the  war  that  had  been  raging  in  Cuba,  then,  for 
about  three  years;  it  was  with  mingled  feelings  of 
dismay  and  dread  that  she  surveyed  the  activity  that 
very  soon  became  apparent  both  in  the  harbor  and 
in  the  city  of  Havana ;  she  could  see  the  lights  of 
the  rescuing  boats  as  they  circled  about  the  scene 
of  the  wreck  and  even  hear  the  groans  and  suppli 
cations  of  some  of  the  severely  wounded  survivors, 
for  the  night  was  clear  and  the  light  wind  carried  the 
sounds  from  the  harbor  up  to  her  window  so  that 
her  very  acute  hearing  told  her  that  this  was  no 
casual  accident,  but,  in  all  probability,  a  carefully 
planned  holocaust  in  which  her  own  much-loved  na 
tive  land  would,  inevitably  be  involved. 

Manuello  was  one  of  the  first  to  rush  out  upon 
the  streets  of  the  little  village  after  the  terrific 
noise  of  the  explosion  had  rolled  away;  he  passed 
hastily  from  cottage  to  cottage  asking  the  inmates 


An  American  95 

if  they  were  aware  of  the  cause  of  it,  for,  being  a 
little  below  the  level  of  Havana  Harbor,  the  inhabi 
tants  of  San  Domingo  could  not  command  a  view 
of  it. 

As  no  one  seemed  able  to  give  him  any  explanation 
of  the  disturbing  detonation,  he  even  dared  to  ap 
proach  one  of  the  block  houses  held  by  the  Spanish 
soldiery;  here,  he  found  everything  in  confusion  and 
excitement  .  .  .  men  were  hastily  arming  themselves 
so  as  to  be  in  readiness  for  whatever  orders  might 
come  from  their  superiors,  and  Manuello  found  no 
one  among  them  who  seemed  much  better  informed 
than  he,  himself,  was ;  he  imagined  that  what  he  had 
heard  had  been  the  result  of  the  consummation  of 
the  plans  upon  which  he  had  stumbled  earlier  in  the 
evening  and  started  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the  hill 
upon  which  Ruth  Wakefield's  residence  was  located  in 
order  to  gain  a  view  of  Havana  Harbor. 

Manuello  had  almost  reached  the  very  top  of  the 
hill  before  he  realized  that  he  had  come  out  into 
the  night  without  a  weapon  of  any  kind,  and,  no 
sooner  had  he  made  this  disconcerting  discovery  than 
he  became  aware  of  some  sort  of  movement  directly 
in  his  rear;  wishing  to  avoid  whatever  it  might  be, 
he  hastily  concealed  himself  and  waited  for  the  ap 
proach  of  his  unseen  companion  in  the  darkness ;  the 
steps  he  had  heard  came  along  the  path  hastily,  yet 
steadily,  and  the  owner  of  them  soon  appeared;  as 
he  passed  Manuello,  the  young  fellow  made  out  that 


96  An  American 

the  newcomer  was  none  other  than  the  village  Priest 
who,  as  it  seemed  likely,  was  bent  upon  the  same  er 
rand  as  the  hidden  peon;  Father  Felix  kept  on, 
sturdily,  climbing  the  grade  to  the  mansion  on  the 
hill ;  having  reached  the  house  he  at  once  disappeared 
inside  it  and  Manuello  was  again  alone  upon  the 
hillside. 

Gaining  a  point  of  vantage,  Manuello  looked  down 
upon  Havana  Harbor,  and,  at  once,  decided  upon 
the  course  that  he  must  pursue  to  cover  himself  from 
danger  of  suspicion  as  to  the  possibility  of  his  hav 
ing  participated  in  the  terrible  calamity  that  had 
befallen  the  United  States  battleship,  for  Manuello 
knew  the  exact  location  of  the  different  ships  then 
anchored  in  Havana  Harbor  as  he  had  in  his  posses 
sion  a  map  of  it  upon  which  he  had  drawn  certain 
black  crosses  which  indicated  the  positions  of  dif 
ferent  vessels,  also  certain  ingenious  little  flourishes 
told  him  the  nationality  of  the  various  ships,  so  that 
he  felt  as  sure  as  if  he  were  right  upon  the  scene 
that  the  battleship  Maine  had  been  blown  up  in 
Havana  Harbor,  that  fateful  evening,  and  he  knew 
that  there  would  be  a  searching  investigation  made 
as  to  what  had  caused  the  explosion,  so  that 
Manuello  had  this  little  problem  to  consider  as  well 
as  the  one  concerning  the  sudden  and  mysterious 
death  of  Victorio  Colenzo  just  as  he  was  about  to 
be  liberated  from  the  prison  at  San  Domingo;  for 
Manuello  knew  far  more  concerning  that  casualty 


An  American  97 

than  he  had  imparted  to  Estrella  when  she  had  so 
diligently  inquired  of  him  about  it. 

Father  Felix  found  Ruth  Wakefield  and  her  little, 
frightened  household  fully  awake  as  well  as  fully 
aware  of  the  nature  of  the  episode  that  had  startled 
him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  had  climbed  the  hill 
to  ascertain  the  safety  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
mansion  on  the  hill,  for  the  good  Priest  pitied  the 
mistress  of  the  mansion  far  more  than  he  did  the 
poor  girl  in  the  cottage,  knowing  that  added  refine 
ment  often  makes  more  poignant  a  sorrow  that  would 
inevitably  be  hard  for  any  human  heart  to  bear. 


CHAPTER   VII 

over  the  little  village  of  San  Domingo,  on  the 
morning  of  February  sixteenth,  1898,  the  news 
spread  like  wild-fire  that  the  United  States  battle 
ship,  Maine,  had  been  blown  up  in  Havana  Harbor. 

Manuello,  having  secreted  his  map  in  what  he 
considered  to  be  a  safe  place,  and  having  remained 
quietly  inside  his  own  domicile  during  the  balance 
of  the  night  preceding  the  general  acceptance  of  the 
the  salient  facts  concerned  in  the  great  disaster, 
ventured  forth  at  daylight,  hoping  to  discover  the 
condition  of  the  public  mind  with  regard  to  it. 

The  first  place  he  visited  was  one  of  the  block 
houses  where  he  had  hob-nobbed  with  the  soldiers  be 
fore  the  news  of  the  explosion  had  reached  them; 
here  he  found  closely  shut  mouths  and  stern  counte 
nances  meeting  him  on  ever  side,  as  he  was  known  to 
be  engaged  in  stirring  up  strife  and  dissatisfaction 
among  the  peons  of  whom,  to  some  extent,  now  that 
Victorio  Colenzo  was  dead,  he  was  an  acknowledged 
leader;  the  soldiers,  knowing  nothing  of  what  action 
would  be  taken  by  their  own  government,  much  less 
of  how  far  the  resentment  of  the  powerful  nation  in 
volved  in  the  disaster  would  carry  them,  thought 


An  American  99 

that  discretion  was,  by  all  means,  the  better  part  of 
valor,  in  this  instance,  and,  accordingly,  had  no 
private  conversation  with  Manuello  at  all,  being 
careful  to  have  several  of  their  number  within  ear 
shot  of  every  word  he  uttered;  he,  realizing  the  sit 
uation,  after  some  few  moments,  went  quietly  away, 
glad,  indeed,  to  escape  so  easily  from  among  the 
armed  hosts  of  Spain,  for  his  own  native  country 
had  been  under  the  heel  of  Spanish  oppressors  for 
more  than  three  years,  at  this  time. 

From  the  block-house,  the  young  fellow  proceeded 
to  the  dwelling  of  little  Tessa  for  he  had  a  sort  of 
mild  affection  for  her,  knowing  how  profoundly  she 
admired  him  and  being  flattered  by  her  preference, 
while  his  own  heart  was  set  on  Estrella,  to  win  whom 
he  had,  indeed,  committed  a  most  terrible  crime,  for 
it  had  been  his  hand  that  had  almost  severed  the 
handsome  head  of  Victorio  Colenzo  from  his  strong 
and  agile  body,  he  having  taken  advantage  of  the 
confusion  in  the  prison  at  the  time  of  the  liberation 
of  the  political  offenders  to  vent  his  own  jealous 
spite  upon  the  natural  leader  of  them  all,  little 
dreaming  that  he  had  cut  off  in  his  prime  the  hus 
band  of  the  lady  of  the  mansion  on  the  hill,  but  only 
congratulating  himself  on  having  removed  from  his 
own  path  a  dangerous  rival  in  the  affections,  not 
only  of  Estrella,  but  also  of  all  of  those  with  whom 
he,  Manuello,  hoped  to  advance  his  own  interests ;  for 
Victorio  Colenzo  was  a  man  to  be  feared  by  all  those 


100  An  American 

who  opposed  him  as  Manuello  knew  very  well;  now 
that  his  dead  body  was  lying  there  in  the  little  im 
provised  morgue,  it  seemed  to  the  young  Cuban  that 
his  great  influence  would  soon  die  away,  and,  so  far 
as  Estrella  was  concerned,  he  felt  pretty  sure  of  her 
as  she  was  so  near  to  him  and  would,  naturally,  lean 
upon  him  in  trouble. 

So  that,  he  felt  quite  complacent  as  to  the  recent 
turns  in  his  affairs,  when  he  entered  the  rude  home  of 
little  Tessa ;  he  found  that  small,  dark  young  woman 
standing  quietly  beside  a  window  watching  his  ap 
proach;  she  turned  to  him,  when  another  member  of 
the  family  had  admitted  him,  eagerly  and  expec 
tantly  : 

"What  do  you  think,  Manuello?"  she  inquired. 
"What  will  be  the  result  of  last  night's  terrible  dis 
aster?  Shall  we,  now,  have  the  Americans  to  fight 
as  well  as  the  Spanish?  Will  the  great  United 
States  hold  us  responsible  for  this  crime?  I  won 
dered,  right  away,  what  you  would  think  about  it 
all  and  am  so  glad  you  have  come  over  early.  Is 
dear  Estrella  as  well  as  we  could  expect  under  her 
distressing  circumstances?  Will  the  body  of  her 
lover  be  buried,  today?  Will  this  new  trouble  make 
any  difference  with  the  burial  of  the  bodies  in  the 
morgue?  Tell  me  everything  you  know,  Manuello. 
Don't  pay  any  attention  to  my  questions  .  .  .  just 
go  ahead  and  tell  me!" 

She  had  come  near  to  him  as   she  kepf  asking 


An  American  101 

questions,  and  was  now  beside  him  and  had  grasped 
the  collar  of  his  short  jacket,  for  Manuello  was 
something  of  a  dude  among  his  associates  and  was 
very  particular  as  to  his  appearance,  being  proud 
of  his  straight,  strong  figure  and  broad  shoulders 
which  towered  above  many  of  the  heads  of  his  com 
panions,  so  that  little  Tessa  had  to  stretch  her  small, 
dark  hands  well  above  her  smooth,  black  head  in 
order  to  cling  as  closely  as  she  desired  to  him. 

The  young  fellow  looked  down  into  the  eager  face 
lifted  toward  his  own  and  hesitated  a  little  while  be 
fore  he  answered  her;  diplomacy  had  become  so  much 
a  part  of  his  acquired  habit  that,  even  when  it  was 
unnecessary,  as  in  the  present  instance,  for  Tessa 
trusted  him  implicitly,  he  still  employed  it: 

"To  begin  with,"  he  said,  as  if  issuing  a  decree 
from  a  judgment-seat,  "I  do  not  think  that  the  blow 
ing  up  of  the  battleship,  last  night,  will  make  our 
case  in  Cuba  much  harder  than  it  already  is  ...  in 
fact,  it  might  be  that  the  American  government 
would  resent  the  loss  of  their  property  and  the 
murder  of  their  sailors  sufficiently  to  induce  them 
to  assist  us  in  our  struggle  for  independence  from 
the  tyranny  of  Spain."  He  looked  about  him  anx 
iously,  as  he  made  this  last  statement,  for  he  knew 
that  agents  of  the  government  might  be  in  hiding 
almost  anywhere.  "As  to  the  burial  of  Victorio 
Colenzo,"  he  pronounced  the  name  with  some  brag 
gadocio,  "and  the  rest,  this  disaster  should  make 


102  An  American 

no  difference  as  to  that,  for  when  human  beings  die 
they  have  to  be  buried  somehow,  no  matter  what  hap 
pens."  It  was  with  secret  satisfaction  that  he  ex 
plained  this  last  matter,  for,  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  the  sooner  the  body  of  his  victim  was  un 
der  the  ground  the  better  he,  himself,  would  feel, 
"and  as  to  Estrella,  as  soon  as  she  recovers  from  the 
loss  of  her  handsome  lover,  I  think  she  will  listen 
to  reason  again  and  be  the  same  nice  girl  she  was 
before  she  ever  met  this  stranger  who  came  among 
us  like  a  whirlwind  and  who  has  left  us  as  suddenly 
as  he  appeared  among  us.  Now,  little  Tessa,"  he 
ended,  "I  think  that  I  have  answered  all  of  your 
questions  .  .  .  suppose  you  answer  some  of  mine 
.  .  .  for  example,"  and  he  bent  his  bold  eyes 
on  her  little  face,  "why  are  you  growing  to  be  so 
beautiful?  Whom  do  you  love  more  than  anything 
else  in  the  world?  When  will  you  be  a  married 
woman  ?  Do  you  like  me  as  well  as  you  did  when  we 
were  little  children?  Do  you  think  that  Estrella  will 
ever  marry  me,  now  that  she  has  lost  her  new  lover? 
Are  you  my  little  friend  in  this  matter  and  will  you 
assist  my  cause  with  Estrella?"  seeing  a  look  of  con 
sternation  spread  over  her  countenance,  he  ended 
his  category  with,  "Who  is  your  lover,  little  Tessa? 
I  know  you  must  have  one  for  you  have  grown  to 
be  very  fair  and  winsome  since  we  were  shut  up  in 
that  hateful  prison." 

"Manuello,"  said  the  girl,  "I  don't  believe  that  I 


An  American  103 

will  ever  marry.  ...  I  have  no  lover  and  I  am  not 
beautiful.  Estrella  does  not  love  you,  now,  but  she 
may  learn  to  do  so.  I  wish  her  to  be  very  happy  and 
if  being  your  wife  would  make  her  so,  and  I  see  no 
reason  why  a  girl  could  not  be  happy  as  your  wife, 
Manuello,  then  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  further  your 
cause  with  her.  I  know  she  is  in  deep  sorrow,  today, 
and  I  intend  to  do  all  that  I  can  to  help  her.  Of 
course  you  know  what  arrangements  have  already 
been  made.  Father  Felix  will  take  charge  of  the 
ceremonies,  I  understand.  I  will  accompany  poor 
Estrella  to  the  burial  place.  You  may  tell  her  that 
I  will  soon  be  with  her." 

The  simplicity  and  truth  of  the  young  and  inno 
cent  girl  affected  even  the  hardened  heart  of  the 
murderer  and  the  evident  adoration  with  which  she 
regarded  him  also  had  its  effect  upon  him,  so  that 
Manuello  trembled,  inwardly,  in  spite  of  all  his  hardi 
hood  and  determination  to  force  his  passionate  love 
upon  Estrella,  as  he  intended  only  to  use  poor  little 
Tessa's  admiration  for  him  to  influence  the  older  and 
fairer  woman ;  the  very  fact  that  Estrella  was,  very 
evidently,  not  of  his  own  race  had  a  powerful  at 
traction  for  his  untutored  imagination  and,  in  secret, 
he  often  dwelt  upon  her  difference  from  all  the  other 
women  of  his  acquaintance,  while  he  assumed  toward 
herself  an  air  of  superiority,  hoping  thereby  to  at 
tract  her  to  himself  as  being  above  all  of  the  others 
of  their  acquaintance;  now  that  his  successful  rival 


104  An  American 

was  out  of  his  way  the  young  fellow  looked  forward 
to  an  early  conquest  of  the  heart  and  hand  of 
Estrella,  and,  now  that  the  Americans  had  become 
involved  in  the  Cuban  war,  he  hoped  for  the  defeat  of 
the  Spaniards  as  he  never  had  before.  Therefore,  he 
could  well  afford  to  be  a  little  condescending  to  the 
young  girl  who  still  clung  to  his  hands  as  if  to  her 
only  hope  of  happiness  and  looked  up  adoringly  into 
his  smiling  eyes. 

Stooping  toward  her  a  little,  he  suddenty  raised 
her  in  his  strong  arms  and  lifted  her  small,  eager  face 
to  a  level  with  his  own ;  her  lips  were  very  near  to  his 
and  were  trembling  for  that  very  reason,  so  he  stilled 
them  by  holding  them  for  a  passionate  moment 
against  his  virile  mouth. 

Tessa  yielded  to  his  embrace  without  thinking  of 
its  import  for  Manuello  was  a  strong  and  healthy 
man,  full  of  the  electrical  attraction  that  goes  with 
those  of  his  build,  and,  like  many  uneducated  human 
beings,  the  animal  side  of  his  nature  was  more  fully 
developed  than  any  other  part  of  it  so  that  almost 
any  healthy  young  woman  appealed  to  him  in  some 
degree  and  Tessa's  evident  affection  for  himself 
added  to  her  power  in  this  respect. 

The  two  young  beings  were  placed  in  the  situation 
in  which  we  have  described  them  for  only  a  very  short 
space  of  earthly  time,  but  it  was  sufficient  to  build 
up  a  barrier  around  Manuello  that  separated  him 
from  all  the  rest  of  the  young  men  known  to  the 


An  American  105 

simple-minded  girl  with  whom  he  was  only  playing 
at  making  love,  for  all  of  that  sacred  emotion  of 
which  he  was  capable  had  been  laid  at  the  feet  of  the 
girl  who  had  scoffed  at  his  advances,  for  some  years. 

When  he  had  set  her,  gently,  upon  her  small  feet 
again,  Manuello  addressed  the  small  maiden  in  an 
almost  wheedling  tone,  for  he  thought  that  he  could, 
now,  better  control  her  feelings  than  before  the 
episode  of  the  past  few  moments: 

"You  do  like  me  as  much  as  before  I  was  put  away 
in  prison,  don't  you,  little  Tessa?  Estrella's  aloof 
ness  from  me  on  account  of  her  crazy  notions  about 
Victorio  Colenzo  has  not  affected  you  with  regard  to 
me,  has  it?  I  can  depend  upon  you  as  upon  a  faith 
ful  little  friend,  I  believe  I  can,  anyway  .  .  .  how 
about  that,  little  Girl?" 

He  bent  his  black  eyes  upon  her  as  he  asked  the 
question,  and,  with  his  picturesque  costunle,  dark 
face,  up-tilted  mustachio,  as  black  as  his  heavy,  curl 
ing  hair,  and  his  strong  and  agile  figure,  in  many 
ways,  he  was  as  handsome  as  anyone  upon  whom 
Tessa's  eyes  had  ever  rested,  for,  to  her  simple  mind, 
Victorio  had  been  too  much  inclined  toward  intel 
lectual  pursuits  to  really  appeal  very  strongly  to 
her  untutored  mind  and  she  had  never  been  able  to 
understand  why  Estrella  preferred  him  to  Manuello ; 
now,  she  answered  the  latter  in  no  uncertain 
language : 

"Of  course  you  can  depend  on  my  friendship  .  .  . 


106  An  American 

of  course  I  would  always  do  anything  I  could  to  help 
you  .  .  .  even  .  .  ."  her  voice  shook  over  the  words, 
"even  with  the  woman  whom  you  love  and  prefer  to 
all  the  other  women  whom  you  know  .  .  .  Estrella," 
she  said  this  firmly  as  if  to  convince  even  herself  of 
the  truth  of  the  statement,  ''Estrella  is  superior  to 
the  rest  of  us  girls  around  here  .  .  .  she  is  of  an 
other  race  of  people,  I  believe  ...  a  superior  race, 
I  guess  .  .  .  anyway,"  she  ended  naively,  "I  love  her 
and  do  not  blame  you,  Manuello,  for  doing  the  same 
thing." 

It  took  a  good  deal  of  courage  and  loyalty  com 
bined  for  the  girl  to  make  the  remarks  we  have  just 
recorded  here  with  her  small  mouth  yet  tingling  from 
the  kisses,  for  Manuello  had  not  been  chary  of  their 
number  while  he  had  the  opportunity  to  bestow  them, 
of  the  man  whom  she  almost  worshiped  as  earthly 
women  adore  merely  human  men,  but  she  had  waded 
through  the  above  sentences,  bravely,  and  felt  better 
after  having  passed  through  what  was  an  ordeal  for 
her  to  undergo. 

Manuello  scarcely  knew  how  to  meet  this  plain  ex 
position  of  the  matter  under  consideration  and 
quickly  changed  the  subject  of  conversation,  not 
wishing  to  go  too  far,  all  at  once,  with  Tessa,  as  that 
might  complicate  his  relations  with  Estrella,  and, 
yet,  feeling  the  need  of  some  stanch  friend,  in  case 
he  should  have  need  of  one,  for  he  realized,  dimly, 
that  he  might  easily  be  in  danger,  at  any  time,  for 


An  American  107 

various  good  reasons,  for  he  had  been  implicated  in 
many  of  the  plots  of  the  revolutionists  as  well  as 
having  secrets  of  his  own  to  cover  up ;  he  was  natu 
rally  cautious  as  far  as  his  own  safety  was  concerned 
and  did  not  wish  to  involve  himself  any  farther  than 
seemed  best  for  his  own  interests  with  Tessa,  and, 
yet,  he  desired  to  have  her  assistance  ready  at  hand 
in  case  he  should  have  need  of  anything  so  feeble. 

He  had  now  fixed  her  previous  regard  for  him  upon 
a  vital  memory,  so  that  she  would  not  soon  forget 
the  few  moments  she  had  passed  encircled  by  his 
arms,  and  this  was  all  he  cared  to  do  in  that  line,  at 
present.  .  .  .  Later  on,  in  case  Estrella  still  re 
mained  obdurate  .  .  .  why  .  .  .  that  would  be  a  far 
different  matter;  he  had  now  arranged  for  himself  a 
secret  harbor  in  the  simple  heart  of  this  uneducated 
girl,  so  that,  if  pursued  too  closely  by  cruel  storms, 
out  on  the  open  sea,  he  could  retire  to  it  at  will. 

As  for  Tessa,  after  she  had  made  her  declaration 
of  love  for  Estrella,  she  felt  that  she  had  performed 
her  full  duty  in  that  matter,  and  went  about  her 
preparations  for  the  affairs  of  that  day,  with  an 
even  lighter  heart  than  before  Manuello's  short  visit, 
for,  after  all,  she  had  discovered  that  she  was  not 
at  least  repulsive  to  the  man  she  had  secretly  loved 
for  almost  as  long  as  she  could  remember  anything, 
for  they  had  grown  up  in  San  Domingo  together  and 
he  had  always  been  identified  with  her  daily  life;  the 
beauty  of  her  personal  dream  regarding  the  tall 


108  An  American 

Cuban  had  been  her  motive  in  assisting  in  the  libera 
tion  of  the  prisoners,  mentioned  in  the  beginning  of 
this  narrative,  as  she  had  small  sympathy  with  Es- 
trella's  adoration  of  Victorio  Colenzo,  although  she 
was  willing  to  have  her  intimate  girl-friend  feel 
exactly  as  she  had  felt  and  pitied  her  with  all  her 
loving  heart,  now  that  she  had  lost,  in  such  a  terrible 
irianner,  the  man  she  loved  and  who,  as  they  both  had 
believed,  loved  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  Manuello  left  the  dwelling  of  the  little 
woman  of  whose  affection  he  was  certain  he  hastened 
home  to  find  out  what  attitude  the  woman  he  loved 
would  take  toward  the  new  conditions  in  Cuba,  as 
well  as  to  ascertain  what  preparations  she  was  mak 
ing  for  the  burial  of  the  man  whose  earthly  life  he 
had,  himself,  taken,  although  she  was  far  from  imag 
ining  anything  of  the  kind  concerning  either  her 
dead  lover  or  her  so-called  half-brother. 

He  found  Estrella  much  perturbed  as  was  to  have 
been  expected  under  the  circumstances  for  he  knew 
that  she  had  been  deeply  enamored  of  the  handsome 
stranger  whose  dead  body  was  now  being  prepared 
for  interment  by  the  village  undertaker  to  whom 
Estrella  had  given  the  money  presented  to  her  by  old 
Mage,  so  that  the  man's  body  was  being  taken  care 
of  through  the  charity  of  his  wife  which  had  been 
bestowed  upon  his  sweetheart  neither  of  whom  had 
been  known  to  him  at  all  a  few  months  before. 

As  the  hour  for  the  funeral  exercises  drew  near,  a 
handsome  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  the  humble 
door  where  Estrella  made  her  home;  from  within  it 
emerged  no  less  a  person  than  old  Mage  herself  who 

109 


110  An  American 

had  been  sent  by  llutli  Wakefield  to  escort  the  sor 
rowing  girl  to  and  from  the  rude  graveyard  where 
the  body  of  her  own  husband  would  be  placed,  that 
day;  she  had  told  good  Father  Felix  what  to  do  as 
to  the  simple  services  but  had  decided  to  absent 
herself  from  them,  not  being  sure  as  to  how  much 
endurance  she  would  have  and  being  determined  not 
to  add  to  the  grief  of  the  innocent  girl  who  had  been 
deceived  by  the  man  whose  name  she  had  assumed 
but  never  been  known  by  in  her  own  family,  even,  as, 
at  his  especial  request,  she  had  kept  the  marriage 
hidden  from  all  of  her  acquaintances  except  the  few 
members  of  her  own  little  household  who  were  de 
voted  to  her  and  her  interests  and  went  about  among 
the  villagers  very  little,  as  what  business  they  had 
was  transacted  in  Havana  instead  of  San  Domingo. 

Estrella  was  pleased  and  flattered  by  this  atten 
tion  from  the  lady  of  the  mansion  on  the  hill  and 
entered  the  carriage  to  find  Father  Felix  already 
there,  for  the  carriage  had  been  sent  to  the  refectory 
before  it  came  to  her  own  home;  she  remembered  the 
message  little  Tessa  had  sent  to  her  so  she  asked  old 
Mage  to  go  to  her  dwelling  for  her,  which  was  done, 
and  completed  the  sad  little  group  that  rode  di 
rectly  behind  the  rude  wagon  which  took  the  place 
of  a  hearse  and  which  carried  the  body  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  to  its  last  earthly  resting-place. 

The  grief  of  the  young  girl  was  very  pitiful  and, 
as  they  turned  away  from  the  narrow  grave,  old 


An  American  111 

Mage  felt  moved  to  try  to  comfort  her  a  little  by 
distracting  her  attention  from  her  sorrow ;  seeing 
Manuello  lurking  in  the  background  as  the  funeral 
party  were  about  to  leave  the  cemetery,  she  said  to 
Estrella : 

"Will  your  brother  ride  home  with  us?  I  remem 
ber  his  face  for  he  has  brought  fruit  to  our  door  and 
he  told  me,  once,  that  you  were  his  half-sister." 

The  poor  girl  stifled  her  sobs  long  enough  to  lis 
ten  to  the  old  woman's  remark  but  made  no  other 
answer  to  it  than  to  shake  her  head;  little  Tessa 
turned  her  face  in  the  direction  indicated  by  old 
Mage  and  saw  Manuello  with  a  look  of  diabolical 
triumph  mingled  with  fear  and  hatred  on  his  dark 
face  so  that,  in  spite  of  her  love  for  him,  his  expres 
sion  frightened  her  and  made  even  her  turn  away 
from  the  sight  of  the  great  change  in  his  countenance 
from  what  she  had  seen  resting  there  only  that 
morning. 

Ruth  Wakefield  had  spend  the  hour  devoted  to 
the  funeral  exercises  of  her  own  husband  very  quietly 
and  in  entire  solitude;  she  was  accustomed  to  the 
latter  condition  and  there  was  no  one  among  her 
acquaintances  in  whom  she  cared  to  confide  except 
the  good  Priest  who  had  done  what  he  could  to  con 
sole  and  sustain  her  spirit  through  this  trial  that 
had  been  forced  upon  her  by  untoward  circumstances 
and  her  own  faith  in  humanity ;  she  watched  her  own 
carriage  descend  the  hill  and  pass  into  the  little  vil- 


112  An  American 

lage  .  .  .  she  saw  the  small  funeral  procession  as  it 
wended  its  way  along  the  palm-lined  street  .  .  .  she 
\vatched  it  enter  the  gate  of  the  little  cemetery  and 
even  saw  poor  Estrella  as  she  alighted  from,  the 
vehicle  and  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  her  small  friend 
as  she  approached  the  open  grave  that  was  to  con 
tain  the  mortal  remains  of  the  man  who  had  been, 
if  only  for  a  short  space  of  time,  her  own  husband 
.  .  .  and  yet  she  did  not  faint  .  .  .  she  did  not  cry 
out  .  .  .  she  had  had  her  fight  with  her  own  nature 
and  she  had  won  out  after  a  hard  struggle ;  all  that 
was  left  of  the  love  she  had  entertained  for  the  hand 
some  Cuban  who  had  entered  into  her  life  so  dis 
astrously,  was  an  open  wound  which  time  alone  could 
ever  heal. 

When  old  Mage  returned  to  the  mansion  on  the 
hill  she  sought  out  her  young  lady  and  would  have, 
in  her  usual  garrulous  manner,  reported  everything 
that  she  had  noticed  during  her  absence  had  she  re 
ceived  encouragement  to  do  so ;  on  the  contrary,  she 
found  Ruth,  apparently,  deeply  interested  in  a  large 
volume  which  she  had  placed  on  a  table  before  her 
chair;  she  rested  her  head  on  her  hands,  from  time 
to  time,  and  only  looked  up  to  welcome  her  old  nurse, 
then  resumed  the  perusal  of  the  page  she  happened 
to  have  open  at  the  time  of  her  entrance  into  the 
library. 

Ruth  Wakefield  had  always  found  her  chief  delight 
among  her  many  good  books;  she  browsed  among 


An  American  113 

them  for  mental  sustenance  and  for  spiritual  solace 
and  found  rich  pasturage;  it  had  been  said  of  her, 
while  she  was  yet  a  small  child,  that,  in  case  it  ever 
became  necessary  to  perform  a  surgical  operation 
upon  any  part  of  her  delicate  body,  an  anaesthetic 
would  not  be  essential,  as  all  that  she  would  need 
would  be  to  have  someone  read  aloud  to  her  from 
some  fine  piece  of  literature. 

So,  in  the  terrible  affliction  that  had  so  recently 
befallen  her,  it  was  as  natural  for  her  to  go  to  her 
books  for  comfort  as  it  would  have  been  for  another 
woman  to  go  to  some  understanding  friend,  for  that 
was  what  Ruth  Wakefield  found  among  her  books 
.  .  .  understanding  and  safe  friends  who  would  never 
betray  her  secrets  or  her  confidence  in  them  .  .  . 
who  would  never  deceive  and  torture  her  and  who 
represented  to  her  the  finest  and  best  impulses  in 
human  nature  as  well  as  those  higher  sentiments  to 
which  she  always  clung  and  which,  now,  in  this  crisis 
of  her  life,  carried  her  safely  over  what  might  have 
crazed  a  mind  less  well  poised  than  hers. 

The  morning  after  the  funeral  exercises  of  Vic- 
torio  Colenzo,  Father  Felix  ascended  the  hill  upon 
which  Ruth  Wakefield's  home  was  located  and  sought 
her  out,  for  the  good  Priest  was  much  perturbed  be 
cause  of  her  present  condition  and  went  to  see  her 
with  the  intention  of  advising  her  to  leave  Cuba, 
at  least  for  a  time,  as  the  situation  with  regard  to 
her  own  country  was  almost  certain  to  become  acute, 


114  An  American 

after  the  disaster  of  a  few  nights  previous,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  to  be  imprudent  for  a  young  woman 
to  remain  alone  with  only  retainers  about  her  among 
the  wild  people  among  whom  he  labored;  for  Father 
Felix  knew  far  more  of  the  nature  of  these  people 
than  many  others  possibly  could  and  he  realized  that 
the  wealth  surrounding  the  Wakefield  residence  was 
in  itself  a  menace  to  the  fair  owner  of  it;  although 
he,  himself,  intended  to  remain  among  his  parish 
ioners  under  all  circumstances,  it  did  not  seem  to  be 
a  wise  procedure  for  an  unprotected  woman  to  do  so. 

He  had  studied  the  situation  over  from  many  view 
points  and  had  settled  on  the  best  course,  accord 
ing  to  his  judgment  and  knowledge  of  the  situation, 
for  her  to  pursue,  and  he,  now,  laid  this  course  be 
fore  her  with  the  benevolent  intention  of  assisting 
her  to  follow  it  in  every  way  within  his  limited  power : 

"My  dear  Miss  Ruth,"  he  began,  hesitatingly,  for 
he  was  not  sure  of  just  what  effect  either  her  hus 
band's  violent  death  or  the  recent  explosion  in  the 
harbor  would  have  on  her  sensitive  nature,  "I  wish 
that  you  would  consider  your  own  situation  very 
carefully;  you  are  now  alone  here  except  for  those 
who  are  under  your  employ,  and  the  people  of  the 
surrounding  country  are  in  a  high  state  of  excite 
ment.  At  almost  any  moment,  now,  your  own  native 
land,  to  which  you  are  devoted,  may  declare  itself  to 
be  in  a  state  of  war  with  Spain,  following  the  blow 
ing  up  of  the  battle-ship;  in  that  case,  your  situa- 


An  American  115 

tion,  here,  would  be  even  more  precarious  than  it  is 
at  present  and  it  is  far  from  being  secure,  even  now ; 
what  I  had  thought  of  proposing  to  you  is  that  you, 
at  once,  gather  together  what  you  consider  to  be  the 
most  precious  of  your  worldly  possession,  here,  and 
place  them  in  some  storage  building  in  Havana,  leav 
ing  the  house,  here,  with  as  few  valuables  as  possi 
ble  inside  of  it,  then,  with  probably  your  old  nurse 
as  a  companion  and  charge,  return  at  once  to  your 
own  country,  anyway,  until  the  war-cloud  that  is 
now  hanging  over  Cuba  has  been  lifted;  it  looks  to 
me,"  he  ended,  "as  if  that  would  not  be  for  some 
years  yet  ...  of  course  America  is  a  powerful 
country  and  if  she  takes  this  matter  up  in  earnest, 
it  may  be  that  it  will  come  to  an  end  more  quickly 
than  I  fear  it  may." 

He  waited,  quietly,  then,  for  Ruth  to  think  over 
his  remarks ;  she  had  regarded  him  earnestly  while  he 
had  been  speaking,  and,  now,  sat  with  her  hands 
folded  in  her  lap  for  a  few  minutes  before  she  spoke : 

"Father  Felix,"  she  began,  at  length,  "Father 
Felix,  I  appreciate  the  reasons  that  prompted  you 
to  come  to  me  and  advise  me  as  you  have  just  been 
doing;  I  understand  that  you  consider  me  unfit  to 
cope  with  the  present  situation  under  my  circum 
stances  and  I  wish  to  inform  you  that  I  do  not  intend 
to  run  away  from  my  duty  any  more  than  you  do. 
I  take  it  for  granted,  Father,  that  you  expect  to 
remain  with  your  people  no  matter  what  may  come 


116  An  American 

to  them?  I  believe  that  the  more  need  they  may  have 
of  you,  the  more  anxious  you  will  be  to  serve  them. 
Now  I,"  she  continued,  earnestly  and  unwaveringly, 
"I  have  not  done  my  full  duty,  up  to  now,  among 
these  people  to  whom  you  have  devoted  all  of  your 
energies;  I  feel  that  I  owe  my  fellow-beings  more 
than  I  have  given  to  them  in  many  ways,  for  I  have 
been  very  much  of  a  recluse,  as  you  know,  loving  my 
books  and  enjoying  my  home  and  the  natural  beau 
ties  I  have  delighted  in  all  around  me;  it  may  be, 
that,  in  the  crisis  that  seems  imminent,  I  may  find 
some  good  work  that  will  wholly  absorb  my  energies 
...  it  may  be  ..."  she  said,  while  a  high  resolve 
settled  over  her  sensitive  features,  "it  may  be,  good 
Father  Felix,  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  do  almost 
as  much  good  in  our  little  world  as  you,  yourself,  are 
doing  and  have  already  done.  Would  you  bar  me 
from  the  proud  privilege  of  sharing  your  labor  and 
of  receiving  some  measure  of  the  rich  reward  which 
is  awaiting  you?" 

Father  Felix  gazed  upon  her  as  if  upon  a  being 
already  translated  beyond  the  common  things  of 
earth,  and,  realizing  the  firmness  of  her  evident  re 
solve,  he  extended  his  hands  toward  her  in  blessing. 
As  she  bowed  her  head  to  receive  it  there  was  a  rapt 
look  upon  her  face  such  as  the  holy  angels  who  wel 
come  the  souls  of  the  newly  dead  must  have  upon 
their  features  .  .  .  the  inner  consciousness  of  Ruth 
Wakefield  shone  through  her  earthly  lineaments  and 


An  American  117 

transfigured  them  so  that  they  were  even  more  fair 
than  they  had  been  before. 

"My  Daughter,"  said  the  good  Priest,  "forgive  me 
for  proposing  what  I  did ;  I  did  not  fully  understand 
you ;  from  this  time  on,  I  hope  that  we  may  find  much 
good  work  that  we  can  do  in  common,  for  I  would  be 
proud  and  glad  to  be  engaged  with  you  upon  our 
Father's  business.  Let  us  consult  with  each  other 
in  our  plans  for  the  betterment  of  the  poor  people 
among  whom  our  lot  in  life  has  been  cast.  I  was 
going  to  speak  to  you  about  the  girl,  Estrella,"  he 
went  on,  watching  her  face  while  he  talked;  "she  is 
in  need  of  different  surroundings  than  she  has  at 
present,  for  she  is  not  of  the  race  of  those  with  whom 
she  has  been  staying;  the  young  man  who  calls  her 
his  half-sister  knows  very  well  that  she  has  none  of 
his  blood  in  her  veins,  and  he  is  almost  constantly  tor 
menting  her  with  offers  of  his  heart  and  hand,  when 
the  poor  girl  is  really  a  mourner  for  the  man  whom 
she  believed,  as  you  did,  to  be  worthy  of  a  good 
woman's  love.  The  girl  is  strong  and  willing  and 
capable  beyond  the  common  run  of  the  people  among 
whom  she  has  spent  her  life  thus  far.  I  believe  she 
would  fully  appreciate  kindness  and  would  repay  it 
in  every  way  in  her  power.  What  I  have  just 
thought  of  is,  perhaps,  impossible  for  you  to  do,  at 
present,  but  it  may  be  that,  in  the  future,  you  may 
consider  it.  If  you  could  bring  yourself  to  have  her 
in  your  home  she  would  be  safe  from  harm  and  might 


118  An  American 

be  a  very  great  help  to  you  if  you  carry  on  the  work 
that  is  now  in  your  mind  to  do.  For,"  he  rose  to 
his  feet  and  walked  rapidly  from  one  end  of  the  room 
to  the  other,  "if  America  declares  war  on  Spain  with 
a  view  to  the  independence  of  Cuba,  there  will  be 
much  heroic  work  for  you  and  me  to  do,  my  dear 
Daughter  .  .  .  there  will  be  much  work  for  us  two 
to  perform." 

Ruth  Wakefield  also  rose  ...  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  situation  demanded  that  she  meet  it  on  her 
feet.  .  .  . 

"Father  Felix,"  she  said  calmly  and  softly, 
"Father  Felix,  have  Estrella  brought  to  me,  today; 
let  us  begin  our  good  work  at  once.  There  is  noth 
ing  that  my  beloved  country  can  demand  of  me  that 
I  would  not  be  glad  to  give  to  its  sacred  cause.  I 
believe  that  I  can  do  more  for  my  native  land,  here, 
in  Cuba,  at  the  present  time,  than  if  I  should  return 
to  it,  now.  It  may  be  that  an  American,  with  some 
degree  of  wealth  and  intelligence,  can  be  of  service, 
here,  at  this  critical  juncture  in  her  country's  his 
tory." 

"Our  native  land  could  not  have  a  better  repre 
sentative,  my  Daughter.  As  you  know,  I,  also,  am 
an  American  and  I  am  proud,  indeed,  to  claim  you  as 
a  fellow-countryman.  From  now  on  we  will  more 
fully  understand  each  other  and  I  shall  be  glad  to 
consult  with  you  about  many  important  matters.  I 
will  proceed  at  once  to  carry  out  your  instructions 


An  American  119 

with  regard  to  the  young  girl  of  whom  we  have  been 
speaking,  for  I  feel  that  her  case  is  one  of  peculiar 
importance,  since  I  fully  believe  that  she,  also,  is  an 
American,  although  I  have  been  unable,  up  to  this 
time,  to  trace  her  parentage  beyond  the  fact  that  a 
man,  presumably  her  father,  left  her  in  the  care  of 
the  woman  who  brought  her  up  as  one  of  her  own 
children,  in  the  little  village  below  here.  The  poor 
girl  has  had  a  sorry  life  so  far  and  really  deserves 
better  treatment  than  she  has  received,  or  so  it  seems 
to  me  from  my  finite  stand-point.  I  do  not  presume 
to  question  the  wisdom  or  justice  of  God,  but,  often, 
I  am  puzzled  when  I  see  the  innocent  suffer  and  the 
guilty  escape  punishment  here  in  this  world ;  I  always 
trust  in  our  heavenly  Father  implicitly,  and,  yet,  at 
times,  I  am  sorely  put  to  it  to  furnish  reasons  for 
certain  people  having  been  placed  in  certain  environ 
ments.  I  believe  that  all  this  will  be  explained  to 
us  in  good  time,  but  many  things  are  hard  to  under 
stand  while  we  remain  finite  beings  with  only  the  in 
telligence  that  has  been  bestowed  upon  humanity  to 
reason  with.  Conscience,"  he  went  on  almost  as  if 
talking  to  himself,  "conscience  is  our  infallible  guide 
and  was  given  to  us  so  that  we  would  never  be  with 
out  direction  in  whatever  circumstances  we  may  be 
placed.  Now,  in  this  instance  ...  I  honestly 
thought  that  I  was  doing  right  to  come  here  this 
morning  and  advise  you  as  I  did,  and,  yet,  God,  in 
His  great  Wisdom,  guided  you,  at  once,  into  the  only 


120  An  American 

path  that  you  were  ever  meant  to  walk  in  ...  the 
path  that  will  lead  you  on  to  the  peace  that  passeth 
human  understanding." 

After  a  little  rather  desultory  conversation,  with 
which  he  hoped  to  lighten  the  outlook  of  the  lonely 
woman,  the  good  Priest  wended  his  solitary  way  down 
the  hill  and  back  to  the  scene  of  most  of  his  labors 
among  the  ignorant  people  whom  he  hoped  to  help 
toward  a  better  enlightenment,  and,  as  he  walked 
slowly  down  the  path  leading  to  the  village,  he  turned 
and  looked  back  at  the  mansion  on  the  hill,  crossed 
himself,  and  murmured: 

"Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHEN  Estrella  reached  the  mansion  on  the  hill  she 
found  its  mistress  quietly  awaiting  her  outside  the 
dwelling;  she  welcomed  the  young  girl  with  out 
stretched  hands,  saying: 

"Father  Felix  has  done  well,  indeed,  to  send  you 
to  me  so  quickly,  Estrella.  I  want  you  to  feel  per 
fectly  at  home,  here.  Old  Mage  will  take  you  to  your 
own  room  and  tell  you  what  little  duties  you  may 
assume  if  you  wish  to  do  so.  When  you  have  ar 
ranged  these  little  domestic  matters,  come  to  me  in 
the  library  and  we  will  talk  over  some  plans  I  have 
in  which  I  think  you  will  be  interested  when  you  have 
somewhat  recovered  from  your  recent  loss.  I  know, 
from  my  own  experience,  that  there  is  but  one  way  to 
carry  sorrow  through  one's  daily  life  and  that  is  to 
be  busy.  If  one  has  enough  physical  energy  and 
nervous  strength,  one  can  accomplish  a  great  deal 
of  good  in  the  world  in  spite  of  personal  sorrow. 
You  are  young  and  have  not  had  an  easy  life  so  far 
...  it  may  be  that  I  can  assist  you  so  that,  from 
now  on,  you  and  I  may  be  able  to  help  each  other  in 
doing  good  work  among  those  who  are  weaker  than 
we  are." 

121 


An  American 

Old  Mage  was  only  too  willing  to  take  charge  of 
the  girl,  for,  while  she  did  riot  really  like  the  idea  of 
having  her  in  the  family,  yet,  she  was  aware  that 
Ruth  needed  companionship  and  she  enjoyed  having 
a  goodly  number  of  people  around  her  as  her  life 
consisted,  mainly,  of  what  each  day  brought  into  it, 
for  old  Mage,  while  she  was  a  good  woman  and  a 
faithful  friend,  was  not  a  thinker  and  made  few  plans 
for  the  future. 

She  led  Estrella  to  the  room  that  Ruth  had  ar 
ranged  to  have  her  occupy,  and,  having  explained 
certain  little  matters  to  her  concerning  the  daily 
round  of  life  in  the  house,  she  began  to  question  her 
as  to  what  she  had  learned  regarding  the  explosion 
in  Havana  Harbor  and  what  she  thought  as  to  the 
probability  of  the  United  States  declaring  war  on 
Spain  on  account  of  it. 

The  girl  had  little  information  to  give  to  the  old 
woman  for  she  had  been  too  much  absorbed  by  her 
own  recent  grief  to  even  think  of  any  of  the  conse 
quences  that  might  follow  the  accident  ...  it 
seemed  to  her  that  if  the  whole  United  States  navy 
were  blown  up,  it  would  make  small  difference  to  her 
now  that  she  had  lost  Victorio  for  he  had  represented 
to  her  everything  that  meant  happiness  for  her  in 
the  future;  she  had  yet  to  learn  many  things  that 
would,  eventually,  bring  to  her  the  kind  of  happiness 
that  is  lasting  and  to  be  depended  upon  when  all  that 


An  American  123 

is  transitory  and  ephemeral  has  passed  beyond  knowl 
edge  and  memory. 

At  length,  old  Mage  wearied  of  quizzing  Estrella 
and  left  her  to  her  own  thoughts  which  were  con 
fused  and  uncertain;  she  did  not  understand  why 
the  lady  of  the  mansion  had  condescended  to  ask 
her  to  come  to  her  for  Father  Felix  had  left  her  in 
doubt  as  to  any  reason,  only  telling  her  that  Miss 
Ruth  desired  her  to  come  to  her,  at  least  for  a  time, 
to  act  as  a  sort  of  companion  as  she  was  alone  a 
great  deal ;  he  did  not  explain  to  her  that  there  might 
be  work  for  her  to  do  in  the  near  future,  leaving  that 
part  to  Ruth,  very  wisely. 

Father  Felix  led  his  little  flock  into  fresh  pastures 
when  he  felt  that  they  were  ready  for  such  a  change 
but  he  reflected  deeply  before  doing  this  and  hoped, 
in  the  case  of  the  girl  under  consideration,  that  com 
panionship  with  one  as  unselfish  and  intrinsically 
good  and  noble  as  Ruth  Wakefield  would  do  more 
for  her  character  than  any  counsel  he  could  give  to 
her;  the  good  Priest  was  well  aware  that  the  hand 
some,  young,  dashing  Cuban  had  fascinated  both  the 
women  and  he  felt  sure  that,  had  he  lived  long  enough 
in  the  same  world  with  them,  he  would  have  broken 
both  their  hearts,  for  it  was  his  nature,  evidently,  to 
gather  flowers  wherever  he  found  them  and  throw 
them  away  to  wither  and  die ;  Father  Felix  was  a  nor 
mal  human  being  as  well  as  a  spiritual  leader  and  he 


An  American 

recognized  facts  with  regard  to  human  nature  as  he 
found  them,  not  being  deceived  by  appearances  as  a 
less  intellectual  person  would  have  been,  or  as  a 
man  possessed  of  weaker  masculine  traits  than  those 
that  had  been  bestowed  upon  him. 

There  was  one  among  his  parishioners  of  whose 
case  he  was  doubtful  ...  he  was  very  anxious  con 
cerning  Manuello  for  he  knew  that  the  young  man 
had  some  sort  of  guilty  secret  that  he  had  confessed 
to  no  one  and  this  was  one  reason  influencing  him  in 
his  endeavor  to  extricate  the  innocent  Estrella  from 
her  immediate  surroundings ;  he  knew  that,  in  the 
troubled  condition  of  the  country,  Manuello  would  be 
almost  certain,  with  his  wild  and  untutored  nature, 
to  get  into  some  sort  of  tangle  with  authorities  and 
supposed  that  the  trouble  he  was  well  aware  of  as 
being  on  the  young  fellow's  conscience  had  something 
to  do  with  existing  Spanish  laws;  he,  himself,  in 
breaking  down  the  doors  of  the  prison  in  order  to 
liberate  this  man  among  the  rest  of  the  prisoners, 
had  been  guilty  of  violating  a  strict  mandate  and 
knew  that  he  was  liable  to  arrest  at  any  time,  but, 
now  that  America  might  come  into  the  struggle  on 
her  own  account,  instead  of  simply  through  sym 
pathy  with  the  wrongs  of  the  people  of  Cuba,  he 
realized  that  his  own  case  had  taken  on  a  new  color, 
for,  as  he  had  told  Ruth  Wakefield,  Father  Felix  was 
a  native  American  and  loved  his  own  country  de 
votedly,  although  he  had  been  acting  as  a  missionary 


An  American  125 

in  Cuba  for  some  years  of  his  active  life  in  the  priest 
hood  ;  he  was  dwelling  on  the  state  of  mind  of  Man- 
uello,  sitting  quietly  in  his  own  place  in  the  refec 
tory,  the  evening  after  the  events  related  in  the  pre 
ceding  chapter,  when  he  heard  a  hasty  knock  at  his 
door  and  immediately  opened  it  to  admit  the  subject 
of  his  thoughts. 

The  young  man  entered  as  if  upon  a  desperate  er 
rand  and  sat  down  in  the  first  chair  he  found  without 
waiting  for  the  invitation  of  the  Priest,  a  proceeding 
that,  alone,  showed  the  condition  of  his  mind: 

''Good  Father,"  he  began  without  introduction, 
"where  is  Estrella?  She  has  not  been  home  for  some 
hours  and  none  of  the  family  seem  to  know  much 
about  her;  all  they  told  me  was  that  I  was  to  come 
to  you  for  information  .  .  .  and  here  I  am." 

The  Priest  looked  into  his  eager  face  and  pitied 
while  he  condemned  him,  for  he  could  see  that  he 
greatly  mourned  the  absence  of  the  girl  whom  he  had 
decided  in  his  own  heart  to  have  for  his  own. 

"Manuello,"  said  Father  Felix,  at  length,  having 
regarded  him  with  a  sympathetic  smile,  "you  must 
accept  the  situation  as  calmly  as  you  can.  I  have  to 
tell  you  that  Estrella  has  found  another  home  than 
yours  and  will,  from  this  on,  be  under  good  care 
and  will,  I  hope,  find  happiness  later  on  in  her  ca 
reer  .  .  .  she  is  a  good  girl  and  deserves  to  be 
happy,"  he  concluded,  benevolently. 

"Do  you  mean,"  demanded  Manuello,  "that  I  am 


126  An  American 

not  to  see  her  any  more?  That  I  am  to  be  shut  out 
from  her  life?  I  want  to  know,"  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
"I  demand  to  know  what  you  have  done  with  her? 
Have  you  placed  her  in  some  convent?" 

His  voice  had  risen  as  he  added  question  to  ques 
tion  and  he  faced  the  Priest  with  a  fierce  expression 
on  his  dark  and  lowering  features.  His  attitude 
had  no  effect  on  Father  Felix  who  was  without  bodily 
fear  and  knew  that,  in  the  present  instance,  at  least, 
he  stood  upon  safe  ground,  having,  as  he  well  knew, 
removed  the  girl  from  danger  from  the  very  being 
who,  now,  glared  at  him: 

"My  Son,"  he  said,  "my  Son,  compose  yourself. 
I  will  brook  no  demonstration  of  vile  anger  from  you. 
Estrella  has  been  put  beyond  your  power.  I  do  not 
know,"  he  went  on,  coolly,  "just  what  it  is  that  is 
upon  your  conscience  at  present,  but  I  do  know  there 
is  something  that  will  not  bear  a  close  investigation 
by  the  authorities,  and  I  advise  you  to  have  a  care 
how  you  conduct  yourself  in  the  future.  Cuba  will 
have  need  of  your  strong  arm  and  I  hope  that  you 
will  use  it  in  her  service." 

Cowed  by  the  sternness  of  the  tone  of  voice  in 
which  he  had  been  addressed  as  well  as  by  his  own 
guilty  knowledge,  Manuello,  silently,  and  without 
thanks  or  regrets  of  any  kind,  left  the  refectory, 
slamming  the  door  after  him  ...  an  indignity  that 
few  would  dare  to  place  upon  their  record;  giving 
vent,  inwardly,  to  the  curses  he  did  not  dare  to  utter, 


An  American  127 

he  retraced  his  steps  to  his  own  home,  intending  to 
get  what  information  he  could  from  the  other  mem 
bers  of  his  family  as  to  how  Estrella  went  away; 
reaching  his  domicile,  he,  at  once,  began  to  ply  his 
father,  who  had  returned  from  his  daily  toil,  with 
various  inquiries,  but  found  him  not  only  uncom 
municative  but,  apparently,  also  uninformed  as  to 
what  had  taken  place  during  his  absence;  all  that 
the  other  members  of  the  family  knew  was  that 
Father  Felix  had  come  hurriedly  to  the  house  and 
had  a  short  conversation  with  Estrella  when  she  had 
packed  a  few  personal  effects,  of  which,  indeed,  the 
poor  girl  had  but  few,  and  left  the  place,  telling  them 
she  would  see  them  again  from  time  to  time  and  leav 
ing  kind  farewells  for  both  himself  and  his  father. 

Then  he  remembered  how  intimate  Estrella  had 
always  been  with  Tessa  and  decided  his  best  course 
would  be  to  go  to  her  little  friend,  being  well  aware 
that  any  information  she  might  have  she  would 
gladly  give  to  him;  he  was  hurrying  along,  intent 
upon  this  new  hope  of  relief  from  his  anxiety  regard 
ing  the  woman  he  imagined  himself  to  be  deeply  in 
love  with,  when,  all  at  once,  he  became  aware  that 
someone  was  following  his  footsteps,  guardedly  and 
yet  with  determination ;  immediately  upon  this  knowl 
edge,  there  stalked  into  the  foreground  of  his  con 
sciousness  the  fear  of  discovery  of  his  recent  crime; 
the  intimation  of  the  Priest  that  he  had  suspected 
it  had  stirred  within  him  the  instinct  of  self-protec- 


128  An  American 

tion  and  he  hastened  his  progress  along  the  familiar 
and  narrow  street,  hoping  to  out-distance  his  pur 
suer,  whoever  he  might  happen  to  be. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  succeeding  in  this 
last  effort  and  he  was  congratulating  himself  upon 
his  own  celerity,  when  a  hand  was  laid  rather  heavily 
upon  his  shoulder  and  a  loud  and  insistent  voice  de 
clared  him  to  be  the  prisoner  of  the  owner  of  it. 

Instantly,  Manuello  became  a  beast  of  prey,  cor 
nered  in  its  lair,  and  furious  with  all  the  animal  in 
stincts  of  self-preservation.  He  squirmed  away  from 
the  heavy  hand  and  whirled  around  to  face  his  would- 
be  captor  and  looked  directly  into  the  muzzle  of  a 
very  capable  gun  held  in  steady  hands  that  seemed 
well  accustomed  to  its  use. 

"Up  wid  ye'er  fists,  ye  dirty  spalpeen  ye!"  com 
manded  the  man  behind  the  gun,  using  his  own  rich 
native  brogue  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 
"Hould  'em  right  there  .  .  ."  he  went  on,  as  Manu 
ello,  instinctively,  though  sullenly,  obeyed  him,  "til 
I  snap  these  putty  bracelets  on  ye'er  wrists  !"  fum 
bling  in  his  pocket  with  one  hand  while  he  held  the 
gun  in  the  other,  steadying  it  against  his  shoulder, 
for  he  had  come  prepared,  knowing  his  prospective 
prisoner  to  be  a  desperate  character.  "There,  now !" 
having  completed  his  search  and  placed  a  handcuff 
on  one  of  Manuello's  wrists.  "Up  wid  that  one  and 
over  to  its  mate!" 

But  his  prisoner  was  indeed  a  desperate  man  and 


An  American  129 

did  not  intend  to  yield  to  arrest  as  easily  as  it  had 
appeared,  at  first;  raising  the  manacled  wrist,  he 
brought  the  steel  bracelets  down  on  the  red  head  of 
the  Irishman,  felling  him  to  the  ground;  then  it  was 
but  the  work  of  a  moment  to  secure  the  loaded  gun, 
and,  after  that,  the  tables  were  .completely  turned 
for  Manuello  immediately  became  the  master  of  the 
situation ;  looking  hastily  about  him  to  be  sure  that 
he  was  unobserved,  he  was  about  to  complete  the 
utter  defeat  of  the  man  who  had  given  him  such  a 
terrific  fright  by  beating  his  brains  out  with  the 
clubbed  gun,  when  he  heard  his  own  name  spoken  in 
a  soft,  low,  scared  voice;  turning,  he  beheld  little 
Tessa  standing  behind  him. 

''Oh,  Manuello,"  she  cried,  breathing  pantingly, 
"what  has  happened  here?  Are  you  hurt?  There 
is  blood  on  your  wrist  .  .  .  and  .  .  .*'  here  she 
stopped  in  consternation,  "what  else  have  you  here?" 
for  the  Irishman  had  done,  at  least,  a  part  of  his 
work  well,  having  locked  the  handcuff  which  the 
young  man  had  almost  forgotten  he  was  wearing, 
"Take  the  hateful  thing  off,  dear  Manuello  .  .  .  do 
take  it  off  ...  I  don't  like  to  see  it  on  your  wrist." 

"Easier  said  than  done,  my  dear  little  Girl!"  de 
clared  the  victim,  smilingly.  "But  we  can  fix  that 
somehow;  in  the  meantime,  we  will  let  this  fellow  lay 
where  he  has  fallen.  Someone  of  his  tribe  wilL 
likely,  be  along,  soon,  and  they  can  take  care  of 
each  other.  Come  along,  Tessa,  we  will  see  what  we 


130  An  American 

can  do  with  this  piece  of  jewelry  ...  it  is  rather 
unwieldy  ...  I  don't  like  the  look  of  it." 

The  home  of  the  young  girl  was  not  far  distant 
and  thither  they  repaired;  after  repeated  efforts  to 
file  through  or  break  the  manacles,  Tessa  bethought 
herself  of  one  possible  method  of  releasing  Manuello 
and  acted  upon  her  idea  at  once;  running  out  upon 
the  street  she  approached  the  place  where  the  sol 
dier  had  fallen,  for  he  wore  the  uniform  of  the  Span 
ish  army,  intending  to  feel  in  all  of  his  pockets  for 
a  key  that  would  unlock  the  handcuffs. 

As  she  drew  near  to  the  spot  she  heard  low  voices 
and  crept  along  in  the  shadow  of  the  shrubbery  that 
lined  the  narrow  street  until  she  was  within  earshot ; 
then  she  realized  that  two  more  soldiers  had  joined 
their  fallen  comrade  whom  they  had  resuscitated,  so 
that  he  was  relating  to  them  something  of  the  cir 
cumstances  that  had  led  to  his  present  plight : 

"Ye  see,  b'ys,"  he  was  saying,  "I  wanted  to  arrist 
the  spalpeen  myself  becase  I  think  he  is  not  only  a 
revolutionist,  but,  also,  a  mhurderer  ...  a  fella 
we  arristed  yesterday  tould  me  that  he  thinks  this 
wan  killed  the  leader  of  thim  all  ...  seems  he  was 
jealous  of  him  .  .  .  they  both  wanted  the  same 
ghirl.  .  .  ." 

Tessa,  realizing  that  her  errand  was  useless, 
turned  to  go  back  silently,  but  the  words  she  had 
heard  had  burned  themselves  into  her  brain,  and  when 
she  was  again  beside  Manuello  he  seemed  far  differ- 


An  American  131 

ent  to  her  than  he  had  before ;  she  found  him  almost 
crazy  from  fear  of  discovery  as  he  had  failed  in  all 
of  his  efforts  to  free  himself  from  the  device  that  had 
been  placed  upon  his  wrist. 

"Did  you  get  the  key?"  he  demanded,  almost 
fiercely.  "Where  is  it?  This  cursed  thing  is  almost 
killing  me!" 

Frightened  at  his  expression  and  regretting  her 
inability  to  help  him,  the  girl  began  to  cry,  lifting 
her  apron  to  her  eyes  to  wipe  away  her  tears;  as 
she  did  so,  the  young  man  said  to  her,  angrily: 

"Well  .  .  .  stand  there  and  cry  while  I  am  suffer 
ing  .  .  .  you'll  do  a  lot  of  good  that  way  .  .  . 
hustle  out  and  see  if  you  can't  find  some  tool  to  get 
this  thing  off  of  me  ...  go  to  the  village  blacksmith 
and  tell  him  some  lie  or  other  .  .  .  ask  him  how  you 
can  get  an  iron  off  your  little  sister's  leg  ...  do 
something  .  .  .  someone  will  come  in  and  find  me 
this  way!" 

"Even  if  they  did,  Manuello  .  .  .  you  are  not  un 
der  arrest  .  .  .  the  man  don't  know  where  you  are, 
now;  but  I'll  go  and  try  to  find  some  way  to  help 
you  ...  of  course  I  will  .  .  ."  said  the  generous- 
hearted  girl,  "I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  and,  now,  that 
Estrella  is  gone  .  .  ." 

She  hurried  out,  then,  leaving  the  young  fellow 
in  no  pleasant  mood,  for  he  had  much  to  reflect  upon 
and  a  pair  of  heavy  handcuffs  hanging  to  one  wrist 
is  not  conducive  to  a  man's  happiness. 


132  An  American 

Tessa  soon  returned  and  had  to  report  that  her 
efforts  in  his  behalf  were,  again,  unsuccessful,  for 
the  blacksmith  had  only  said: 

"Bring  the  child  to  me  and  I  will  do  what  I  can 
for  her.'* 

Manuello  was,  now,  almost  in  despair  and  he  was 
wise  enough  to  know  that  cursing,  while  it  might 
relieve  his  feelings  to  some  extent,  would  not  really 
help  the  situation,  so  he  pulled  his  sleeve  down  as  far 
as  he  could  over  the  manacled  wrist  and  proceeded 
to  find  out  what  he  could  concerning  Estrella. 

Tessa  would  have  felt  much  freer  than  she  did 
had  she  not  remembered  the  words  of  the  soldiers  con 
cerning  the  crime  of  which  they  suspected  the  young 
man,  and  only  told  him  that  Estrella  had  come  run 
ning  to  her,  that  morning,  and  had  told  her  that  she 
was  going  away  for  a  while  but  that  she  would  see 
her  again,  soon. 

Manuello  had  to  content  himself  with  this,  hoping 
to  find  out  more  from  Tessa  within  a  day  or  so,  and 
went  away,  divided  between  a  desire  to  revenge  him 
self  upon  the  man  who  had  tried  to  arrest  him  and 
self-congratulation  upon  his  escape,  but  most  of  all 
he  pondered  how  to  get  the  hateful  handcuffs  from 
his  wrist,  for,  besides  being  painful  and  unwieldly, 
he  knew  that  they  would  attract  attention  to  him. 


CHAPTER  X 

MANUELLO  was  almost  desperate  regarding  the 
manacles  still  clamped  firmly  on  his  wrist ;  it  left  his 
right  hand  free  and  he  could  use  the  fingers  of  the 
left  hand,  so  he  bound  the  wrist,  placing  the  second 
handcuff  above  the  one  that  was  locked  and  laying 
it  as  close  to  the  wrist  as  possible;  he  left  his  hand 
free  as  he  could  and  simply  told  his  family  that  he 
had  cut  the  arm  when  engaged  in  practicing  with  the 
machete  in  the  use  of  which  weapon  the  Cuban  in 
surgents  were  especially  accomplished ;  this  explana 
tion  of  his  supposed  wound  was  sufficient  and  no  one 
had  any  idea  of  the  actual  facts  except  Tessa  and 
she  was  both  too  loyal  to  the  young  man  and  too 
frightened  because  of  the  reported  crime  he  had  com 
mitted  to  do  anything  but  keep  his  secret  inviolate; 
he  depended  upon  her  acknowledged  affection  for  him 
and  had  no  doubt  that  she  would  defend  him  if  oc 
casion  required  such  a  proceeding;  his  chief  anxiety, 
at  present,  was  to  find  out  the  whereabouts  of 
Estrella,  for  he  was  of  a  fiery  and  passionate  nature 
and  the  disappearance  of  the  girl  but  added  to  his 
desire  for  her. 

On  the  morning  after  the  accident  he  had  sus- 
133 


134  An  American 

tained  he  started  out  with  the  determination  to  dis 
cover  where  Estrella  had  gone,  for,  as  she  had  said 
that  she  would  soon  see  his  own  family  as  well  as 
little  Tessa,  he  reasoned  that  she  could  not  have  gone 
very  far  away ;  so  he  began  his  search  by  climbing  to 
the  top  of  the  hill  behind  the  village,  intending  to  try 
to  locate  her  hiding-place  by  the  simple  method  of 
checking  off  in  his  own  mind  impossible  localities  for 
concealment  and  then  deciding  which  of  the  probable 
ones  to  investigate;  having  reached  the  point  of 
vantage  he  wished,  he  began  by  cutting  out  the  re 
fectory  .  .  .  then  his  own  home  .  .  .  then  Tessa's 
dwelling-place  .  .  .  then  numerous  small  houses 
where  he  knew  it  would  be  practically  impossible  for 
another  human  being  to  be  entertained  in. 

Just  as  he  had  reached  this  point  in  his  revery, 
his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  mansion  on  the 
hill,  and  he  began  to  observe,  closely,  the  movements 
of  every  one  who  came  to  or  went  from  the  house; 
he  did  not  really  suspect  that  Estrella  was  there,  but 
his  mind  wandered  idly  over  the  residences  within  his 
view  and  lighted  upon  the  mansion  on  the  hill  as 
something  different  from  the  other  dwellings  he  could 
see. 

As  he  watched  the  gateway  of  Ruth  Wakefield's 
residence,  he  noticed,  emerging  from  it,  old  Mage 
whom  he  remembered  as  being  there,  in  what  he  con 
sidered  to  be  the  capacity  of  an  upper  servant;  he 
looked  at  the  old  woman  because  she  happened  to  be 


An  American  135 

in  his  line  of  vision  and  not  because  he  had  any 
curiosity  concerning  her  movements;  but  the  nature 
of  the  errand  upon  which  she  seemed  to  be  bound 
not  only  surprised,  but  amused,  him,  for  she  carried 
in  her  hand  a  large  basket  of  choice  cut  flowers,  and, 
from  time  to  time,  as  she  walked  along,  she  stooped 
to  gather  dried  leaves  that  had  fallen  in  the  pathway 
with  which  she  seemed  trying  to  conceal  the  contents 
of  her  basket;  she  seemed  satisfied,  at  last,  and  ceased 
to  gather  leaves,  while  she  quickened  her  pace  to  a 
sort  of  slow  amble  which  gait  she  maintained  until 
she  had  passed  beyond  Manuello's  view ;  he  wondered, 
idly,  why  she  covered  the  flowers,  and  was  about  to 
move  to  a  point  which  commanded  a  more  perfect 
view  of  the  pathway,  when  his  attention  was  again  at 
tracted  to  the  gateway  of  the  Wakefield  residence. 
This  time,  it  was  quite  a  different  person  who 
appeared  between  the  high  stone  pillars  ...  a  tall 
woman,  evidently  young  and  active,  plainly  but 
serviceably  dressed,  stood,  for  a  moment,  shading 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  from  the  glaring  sunlight, 
peering  down  the  pathway  along  which  old  Mage  had 
just  been  walking;  she  remained  in  this  position  but 
a  very  short  time,  however,  for  she  was,  soon,  joined 
by  another  woman  who  seemed  as  much  interested  as 
she  had  been  in  watching  the  pathway;  as  the  two 
young  creatures  stood  there,  side  by  side,  Manuello 
could  not  but  remark  upon  the  similarity  of  their 
forms  and  general  appearance  .  .  .  both  were  evi- 


136  An  American 

dently  strong  and  agile  .  .  .  both  seemed  possessed 
of  bounding  health  and  youthful  vigor;  it  seemed  to 
him  that  one  of  the  women  looked  more  sturdy  than 
the  other  one  did,  but,  as  she  was  wearing  a  wide 
and  drooping  hat,  such  as  many  of  the  natives  of  the 
Island  were  accustomed  to  wear,  he  could  not  see 
her  face ;  as  she  approached  the  woman  who  had  first 
appeared  in  the  gateway,  there  was  something  in  her 
manner  that  seemed  familiar  to  the  young  fellow, 
and,  as  she  put  one  hand,  gently,  on  the  other's 
shoulder,  he,  again,  seemed  to  recognize  something 
familiar  in  the  movement;  then  she  spoke,  and,  al 
though  he  was  too  far  away  to  hear  her  words,  he 
knew  the  tones  of  her  voice,  and  realized  that  his 
search  for  Estrella  was  ended. 

As  this  knowledge  was  fully  impressed  upon  him 
he  cast  about  in  his  mind  as  to  what  method  of  pro 
cedure  to  take  to  bring  about  his  desired  end  which 
was  to  see  and  talk  with  the  girl,  himself,  as  soon  as 
possible ;  first,  he  thought  to  approach  the  house  as  a 
fruit-peddler,  but  put  that  thought  aside  as  unlikely 
to  attain  his  object  .  .  .  then,  he  decided  to  spy 
around  the  place  until  he  located  Estrella's  own 
room,  intending  to  bring  his  guitar  and  sing  under 
her  window  some  native  love-songs,  hoping  to  impress 
upon  her  his  undying  affection  and  imagining  that, 
now  that  Victorio  was  out  of  the  way,  his  cause 
would  be  more  likely  to  succeed  than  before. 

He  had  started  out  to  carry  this  intention  into 


An  American  137 

practice,  leaving  his  original  position  among  the 
heavy  timber  that  skirted  the  hill,  and  going  more 
into  the  open  than  before  in  order  to  more  closely 
approach  the  house,  when  he  became  aware  of  an 
other  presence  in  the  wooded  section  that  he  had  just 
left;  he  could  not  make  out  just  what  this  presence 
was  .  .  .  his  ideas  concerning  it  were  hazy  and  un 
certain,  but  he  felt  sure  that  he  was  not  alone  and, 
now  that  he  had  left  the  timber,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  unknown  presence  was  following  close  be 
hind  him;  he  turned  sharply  around  but  discovered 
nothing  behind  him  and  kept  on  in  the  direction  he 
had  been  proceeding  in,  although  his  nerves  were 
keyed  up  and  ready  to  jump  at  the  slightest  sound; 
suddenly,  directly  in  front  of  him,  he  heard  a  voice 
saying: 

"Do  not  approach  any  nearer  to  her.  If  you  in 
sist  upon  doing  so  you  must  take  the  consequences 
which  are  freighted  with  bitter  pain  for  you." 

It  seemed  to  Manuello  that  this  voice  was  within 
himself  and  came  from  his  own  thoughts  and,  yet, 
it  seemed,  also,  to  be  in  the  pathway  ahead  of  him, 
separated  from  him  and  yet  a  part  of  him;  he  hesi 
tated,  as  above  everything  else,  the  natives  of  Cuba 
are  superstitious  and  Manuello  was  no  exception  to 
this  rule;  his  own  criminal  record,  naturally,  made 
him  timid ;  besides,  Estrella's  evidently  favored  posi 
tion  as  a  member  of  the  household  of  Ruth  Wakefield 
elevated  the  girl  in  his  estimation,  for  everyone  in 


138  An  American 

that  neighborhood  had  great  respect,  amounting  al 
most  to  veneration,  for  the  inmates  of  the  mansion 
on  the  hill. 

The  young  man  stopped  in  his  progress  toward 
the  house  and  turned  his  attention,  for  an  anxious 
moment,  to  his  manacled  wrist,  which  gave  him  a 
great  deal  of  uneasiness  and  some  suffering  as  well; 
as  he  held  this  wrist  with  his  free  right  hand,  he  had 
his  back  toward  the  path  that  led  down  into  the  vil 
lage,  and  was  unaware  of  the  nearness  of  Father 
Felix  until  the  good  Priest  touched  him  on  the  elbow ; 
wheeling  round,  instantly,  he  faced  the  only  man  he 
was  not  afraid  to  meet  among  his  neighbors ;  for,  al 
though  the  Priest  had  told  him  he  knew  that  he  pos 
sessed  a  guilty  secret,  yet  he,  also  was  aware  of 
Father  Felix'  usual  kindness  and  protection  exercised 
over  his  people,  so  that  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  re 
lief  that  he  discovered  who  the  new-comer  was. 

"My  Son,"  said  the  Priest,  ''you  are  abroad  early 
.  .  .  what  news  have  you  heard  in  the  village,  this 
morning?" 

Manuello  looked  at  him  searchingly  as  if  to  dis 
cover  why  he  asked  him  this  question,  wondering 
if  he  had  heard  of  his  own  encounter  of  the  evening 
before,  but  failing  to  gain  any  knowledge  of  the 
secret  thoughts  of  the  Priest,  he  said  at  random: 

"Everything  is  about  as  usual,  I  guess  .  .  .  noth 
ing  startling  seems  to  have  happened  during  the 
night." 


An  American  139 

"I  heard,"  began  Father  Felix,  "I  heard  that  a 
soldier  had  been  struck  down  by  some  marauder 
shortly  after  the  time  of  your  leaving  my  society, 
last  night,  and  I  thought  you  might  have  happened 
to  be  in  the  vicinity  of  the  crime.  By-the-way,"  he 
went  on,  solicitously,  "what  has  happened  to  your 
left  wrist?" 

"Oh  .  .  .  that !"  said  Manuello,  carelessly.  "That 
is  simply  a  love  token  from  the  machete  of  a  friend 
of  mine  while  we  were  sparring  for  practice;  as  you 
said,  last  night,  Cuba  may  have  need  of  us  fighting- 
men  soon,  and  we  wish  to  be  ready  to  take  our  proper 
place  when  the  time  for  action  comes." 

"Well,  be  careful  of  your  weapons,  my  Son  .  .  . 
save  your  steel  for  your  enemies  and  those  of  your 
native  land." 

Speaking  in  this  manner,  the  good  Priest  pursued 
his  journey  up  the  hill  and  disappeared  within  the 
gateway  where  Manuello  had,  only  very  recently,  seen 
Estrella  standing  with  the  mistress  of  the  mansion ; 
he  decided,  under  the  existing  circumstances,  to  re 
trace  his  steps  toward  the  village,  contenting  himself 
with  the  thought  that  he  now  knew  where  Estrella 
was ;  he  thought  that  he  might  as  well  impart  this 
information  to  little  Tessa,  and,  also,  he  wanted  to 
find  out  whether  she  had  heard  anything  more  about 
his  encounter  with  the  soldier  on  the  street,  also  if 
she  had  thought  of  any  way  whereby  he  might  be 


140  An  American 

freed  from  the  manacles  which  became  more  and  more 
distressing  and  uncomfortable. 

With  this  thought  in  his  mind,  he  was  approach 
ing  Tessa's  home  when  he  was  intercepted  by  the 
very  individual  he  meant  to  inquire  about. 

"What  the  divil !"  exclaimed  the  Irishman.  "Sky 
larking  by  daylight  this  toime,  me  foine  high-way- 
mon  ?" 

Manuello  had  drawn  back,  prepared  to  again  bring 
the  hated  handcuffs  doAvn  upon  the  poll  of  the  man 
before  him,  if  he  offered  any  indignities,  when  he 
was  surprised  to  notice  a  wheedling  tone  in  the  voice 
of  his  opponent  of  the  evening  before. 

"Indade,  mon,"  began  the  soldier,  "I  am  in  need 
of  those  putty  bracelets  I  gave  ye,  last  night;  a 
prisint  like  them  is  not  bestowed  ivry  day,  I  tell  yees. 
The  only  thanks  ye  give  me  was  a  crack  on  me  head 
wid  cm  which  took  away  but  little  of  me  sinse  as 
I  had  but  little  in  the  beginning.  ...  I  might  have 
known  betther  than  to  have  tackled  a  foine,  up- 
standin'  fella  like  yces,  single-handed.  Yer  a  foine 
figure  of  a  mon,  me  Frind,  and  I'd  like  mighty  well 
to  serve  be  the  side  of  ye  ...  how  would  it  do,  now, 
fer  ye  to  enlist  in  the  arrmy  and  give  me  back  me 
bracelets  if  I  spake  a  good  worrd  fer  ye  wid  me 
Captain  ?" 

Manuello  looked  at  him  in  surprise,  but,  seeing  a 
chance  to  get  rid  of  the  hateful  manacles,  decided 


An  American  141 

to  agree  to  the  proposition  of  the  other,  at  least  for 
the  time  being. 

"All  right,"  he  acquiesced,  "go  ahead  and  take 
these  cursed  thing  off  me,  first,  and  then  tell  me 
where  you  want  me  to  go." 

The  wary  Irishman  watched  the  face  of  the  Cuban, 
doubtfully,  but,  as  he  really  wished  to  be  able  to 
account  for  the  handcuffs,  he  took  the  key  from  his 
pocket  and  stepped  a  little  closer  to  the  young  fellow 
in  order  to  use  it,  being  careful  to  keep  a  firm  hold 
on  his  gun  the  while;  just  as  he  was  about  to  un 
lock  the  manacles,  he  heard  a  slight  noise  behind  him 
and  looked  out  of  the  tail  of  his  eye  to  be  horrified  by 
the  near  proximity  of  one  of  his  superior  officers; 
instantly,  he  changed  his  attitude  toward  Manuello, 
dropped  the  key,  and  pointed  his  Mauser  rifle  straight 
at  the  heart  of  his  prisoner. 

"Ye  will  .  .  .  will  yees?"  he  cried  out.  "Oi'll  see 
about  that,  ye  Spalpeen!  Shtand  shtill  unless  ye 
want  a  bullet  in  yer  gullet !  Now,  Sir,"  he  said  po 
litely  to  the  officer,  "ef  ye'll  be  ahfter  clicking  the 
other  bracelet  on  his  right  wrist  whilst  I  kape  him 
covered,  Oi'll  be  much  obleeged  to  ye.  He's  a  nasty 
customer,  Sir,"  he  explained,  kindly,  "and  Oi've  been 
havin'  a  rough  toime  wid  'em." 

The  Spanish  officer  stepped  gingerly  up  to  the 
prisoner,  seized  hold  of  the  manacled  wrist  and 
reached  for  the  other  uplifted  hand;  but  Manuello 


142  An  American 

had  had  enough  of  their  society  and  proceeded  to  rid 
himself  of  it  by  striking  at  the  officer  with  his  left 
wrist  while  he  made  a  grab  at  the  rifle  of  the  Irishman 
with  his  right  hand ;  the  young  Cuban  was  wiry  and 
his  muscles  were  like  taut  steel ;  the  officer  went  down 
like  an  ox  before  the  slaughterer  but  the  Irishman 
discharged  his  gun  regardless  of  the  aim  which  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  action  of  the  living  target; 
the  result  was  disastrous  to  all  parties  for  Manuello 
felt  a  sharp,  stinging  pain  in  one  of  his  legs,  but,  in 
spite  of  this,  he  clubbed  the  rifle  and  brought  it  down 
over  the  skull  of  the  Spanish  soldier,  limping  away, 
again  a  conqueror,  but  sorely  wounded,  for  the  bullet 
had  passed  clear  through  the  injured  limb,  tearing 
through  the  flesh  and  bone  as  is  the  manner  of  the 
long  and  slender  Mauser  missile. 

In  this  emergency,  the  young  fellow,  knowing  that 
he  would  be  hunted  after  the  last  encounter,  not  only 
because  of  the  crime  of  which  he  had  tacitly  been 
accused  by  the  soldier  but  because  he  had  struck 
down  a  Spanish  officer,  and  realizing  that,  with  the 
manacles  still  locked  upon  his  wrist,  he  was  a  marked 
man,  bethought  him  of  a  deserted  hut  far  back 
among  the  palms  that  grew  all  over  the  Island  in 
tropical  profusion;  if  he  could  but  reach  this  hut, 
he  thought,  and  first  apprise  Tessa  of  his  new  mis 
hap,  he  might  hide  there  while  he  recovered  from  his 
wound  which  was  beginning  to  give  him  great  pain 
as  it  recovered  from  its  first  numbness. 


An  American  143 

Walking  as  erectly  as  he  could  under  the  circum 
stances  and  keeping  his  left  wrist  well  covered  by 
the  wide  cuff  of  his  jacket-sleeve,  he  was  proceeding 
along  the  familiar  street,  when  he  met  the  girl  he 
wa,s  in  search  of,  strolling  placidly  along,  little 
dreaming  of  the  imminent  peril  in  which  he  had  just 
been  placed,  for  the  discharge  of  the  Mauser  rifle  had 
been  almost  as  silent  as  smokeless;  telling  her  in  a 
few  hurried  sentences  of  his  great  need  and  describ 
ing  to  her  the  location  of  the  ruined  hut  he  had  in 
mind,  Manuello  retired  from  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  XI 

TESSA  was  very  much  distressed  as  to  the  condi 
tion  of  Manuello  and,  feeling  that  he  depended  upon 
her  alone,  cast  about  in  her  mind  as  to  how  she  could 
assist  him ;  to  begin  with,  she  was  anxious  about  the 
heavy  handcuffs  hanging  to  his  poor  wrist,  as  she 
put  it  in  her  gentle  thoughts  of  the  man  whom  she 
suspected  of  being  a  murderer;  if,  however,  the 
charge  against  him  were  true,  she  felt  that  the  crime 
was  committed  in  the  heat  of  a  jealous  passion,  and 
being  what  she  was,  herself,  she  excused  it  for  that 
reason,  for  a  Cuban  girl  is  apt  to  love  as  madly  and 
as  unreasonably  as  any  man  ...  to  her,  Manuello 
was  almost  a  demi-god  ...  it  had  been  a  hard  trial 
for  the  little  woman  to  give  him  up  to  Estrella,  even, 
and,  now  that  he  was  in  dire  need  and  the  girl  of 
his  first  choice  had  deliberately  deserted  him,  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  the  right  to  let  her  own 
wild  love  guide  her  in  all  that  she  did  with  regard 
to  him. 

She  was  slowly  retracing  her  steps  to  her  own 
home  with  the  intention  of  getting  some  supplies  and 
managing  to  evade  the  vigilance  of  the  rest  of  her 
family  sufficiently  to  carry  them  to  the  man  she  loved 

144 


An  American  145 

.  .  .  her  eyes  were  directed  to  the  path  along  which 
she  walked,  idly,  yet,  all  at  once,  those  dark  eyes 
lighted  up  with  sudden  joy  and  she  hastily  swooped 
d  wn,  like  a  fluffy  little  bird  upon  a  morsel  of  food, 
and  took  into  her  hand  a  small  and  intricate-pat 
terned  key;  she  hoped  that  this  was  the  key  that 
would  unlock  the  hated  manacles  from  Manuello's 
wrist  and,  regarding  this  as  a  good  omen,  she  con 
cealed  the  little  deliverer  in  her  bosom,  tying  it  in 
the  corner  of  the  kerchief  that  was  crossed  upon  her 
breast. 

When  Tessa  had  secured  what  necessities  she 
found  available  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  she  at 
once  concealed  them  as  far  as  possible  and  prepared 
to  ascend  the  side  of  the  hill  toward  the  ruined  hut 
where  Manuello  had  directed  her  to  come;  her  heart 
was  fluttering  wildly  for  this  was  her  first  secret 
mission,  as  she  had  always  had  someone  near  her 
during  her  short  life  on  earth:  she  wound  her  way 
among  the  cactus  plants  that  covered  the  ground  in 
almost  all  directions,  with  an  unerring  instinct  that 
was  of  more  value  to  her  than  any  education  could 
have  been  for  the  moment,  for  one  unaccustomed  to 
the  wild  cacti  in  Cuba  might,  easily,  become  be 
wildered,  as  it  is  necessary  to  walk  almost  in  circles 
among  the  thick  clumps  of  prickly  foliage. 

Tessa  was  young,  but  the  women  of  Cuba,  like 
those  of  most  tropical  countries,  mature  early  in  life, 
and  she  already  had  the  strong  maternal  instinct 


146  An  American 

that  is  a  part  of  normal  womanhood;  this  instinct 
now  directed  her  to  watch  over  Manuello  as  if  he 
were,  indeed,  her  child,  instead  of  the  man  to  whom 
she  had  given  the  first  wild  love  of  her  fiery  nature; 
for  women  are  made  that  way  ...  no  matter  what 
their  own  body  may  demand  of  them,  it  is  as  natural 
for  them  to  put  all  personal  feeling  aside  and  allow 
a  higher,  more  unselfish  love  to  rule  them  entirely,  as 
it  is  for  a  man  to,  first  gratify  his  own  desires,  and, 
then,  if  so  be  he  can  without  inconvenience  to  him 
self  in  any  way,  minister  to  the  wants  of  the  woman 
in  the  case,  all  well  and  good,  but  if,  on  the  contrary, 
to  care  for  the  woman  would,  in  any  way,  cause  him 
to  exercise  self-control  and  self-sacrifice,  why,  of 
course,  he  seeks  another  woman  as  soon  as  he  can 
well  rid  himself  of  the  one  who  has  flouted  him;  I 
am  now  speaking  of  the  general  run  of  men  .  .  . 
there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule,  of  course,  just  as 
there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule  just  stated  regard 
ing  women  .  .  .  not  all  women  are  as  little  Tessa 
was,  but  most  of  them  are  and  it  is  indeed  fortunate 
for  the  world  of  men  and  women  that  this  is  as  it 
is  ...  wonderful  beyond  the  ways  of  human  beings 
is  the  love  of  a  pure  woman  .  .  .  wonderful  and 
worthy  of  the  highest  respect  and  devotion  of  any 
man  is  the  almost  angelic  love  that  womtr  often  be 
stow  on  most  unworthy  objects. 

It  was  so  in  this  case,  for,  while  the  girl  was  wind 
ing  among  the  cacti  that  hindered  her  advance  up 


An  American  147 

the  hill,  the  man  was  lying  in  a  miserable  heap  in  the 
corner  of  the  deserted  hut,  cursing  not  only  his  own 
h*  rd  luck,  but  even  the  girl  on  whom  he  depended 
for  sustenance  and  care ;  with  maledictions  on  his 
tongue  and  the  heavy  manacles  on  his  wrist,  and  with 
the  increasing  pain  and  torment  of  his  undressed 
wound,  the  poor  fellow  was  far  from  appearing  much 
as  had  the  gay  peasant  who  had  congratulated  him 
self  on  having  escaped  from  prison,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  having  rid  himself  of  his  rival  in  the  affections 
of  Estrella,  who,  now,  seemed  lost  to  him. 

When  the  girl  reached  the  ruined  hut  she  found 
the  object  of  her  loving  care  under  the  circumstances 
described  above,  and  it  took  all  of  her  courage  to  face 
the  situation  alone  and  unaided  by  surgical  skill  for 
they  both  realized  that  discovery  would  be  almost 
certain  to  be  fatal  to  the  man  who  now  lay  groan 
ing  and  cursing  by  turns,  even  while  his  ministering 
angel  in  human  form  knelt  at  his  side  and  unlocked 
the  handcuffs  from  his  wrist,  for,  luckily,  she  had 
happened  upon  the  very  means  of  deliverance  from 
the  manacles  for  which  they  had  both  longed;  then 
Tessa  gathered  dead  palm  branches  with  which  she 
fashioned  a  rude  bed  for  the  sufferer,  after  which  she 
raised  his  head  upon  a  small  pillow  which  she  had 
thoughtfully  brought  with  her,  for  she  was  a  sturdy 
little  peasant  and  could  act  as  a  beast  of  burden 
without  harm  to  herself ;  having  fixed  him  up  as  com 
fortably  as  she  could,  under  the  hard  circumstances, 


148  An  American 

she  insisted  upon  his  eating  and  drinking  some  of 
the  refreshments  she  had  carried  up  the  hill  for  him ; 
she  had  used  what  skill  she  had  in  bathing  and  bind 
ing  the  wounded  leg,  and,  as  the  bullet  had  gone 
clear  through,  there  was  little  else  to  do  so  far  as 
that  was  concerned;  then  they  began  to  consult  as 
to  what  method  of  procedure  would  be  best  for  them 
to  take;  in  this,  of  course,  Manuello  thought  only  of 
himself,  as  was  natural  to  a  man  of  his  type,  while 
little  Tessa,  as  was  also  natural  to  one  of  her  trust 
ing  and  loving  disposition,  also  thought  only  of  his 
comfort  and  safety. 

"I  must  conie  to  you  each  day  until  the  wound 
heals,  my  dear  Friend,"  said  the  earnest  little  woman. 
<(I  must  bring  you  what  you  will  need  and  I  must  be 
very  careful  not  to  be  detected  in  doing  this.  I 
wish  .  .  ."  she  ended,  earnestly,  "I  wish  that  dear 
Estrella  could  come  and  see  you  for  it  would  do 
you  more  good  than  anything  that  I  can  do  for  you.'* 

"You  are  a  darling  little  girl,  Tessa,"  said  her 
turbulent  patient.  "You  ought  to  satisfy  any  reason 
able  man;  Estrella  don't  care  anything  at  all  about 
me,  and  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  I  can  get  along 
without  her  as  long  as  I  can  have  you." 

The  adoring  look  in  his  dark  eyes  as  he  said  these 
words  was  like  manna  in  the  wilderness  to  little 
Tessa,  for  she  could  not  help  being  pleased  to  think 
that,  after  all,  maybe  Manuello  would  fix  his  affec 
tions  upon  her  small  person,  since  Estrella  had  so 


An  American  149 

often  flouted  him  and  shown  him  plainly  by  her  great 
preference  for  Victorio  that  she  did  not  love  him; 
th^  name  she  had  just  used  in  her  thoughts  brought 
up  the  hateful  suspicion  aroused  in  her  by  the  re 
marks  of  the  Irishman  who  had  seemed,  at  first 
glance,  to  be  a  Spaniard,  but  who,  as  soon  as  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  proved  his  nationality 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

But  the  loving  girl  put  her  thought  aside  almost 
at  once  .  .  .  she  did  not  wish  to  believe  the  suspicion 
to  be  true  and  she  did  not  intend  to  believe  it — until 
she  had  to,  if  such  a  sad  time  could  ever  come  to 
her;  just  at  present  all  the  strength  of  her  being 
was  concentrated  upon  the  desire  to  aid  Manuello  in 
whatever  manner  she  could. 

To  further  this  desire,  she  arranged  a  signal 
whereby  he  might  'know  that  she  was  coming  up 
the  hill  and  concealed,  as  well  as  she  could  the  ap 
proach  to  the  hiding-place  as  well  as  the  hut  itself, 
by  throwing,  in  apparent  disorder,  as  if  blown  by  a 
strong  wind,  such  branches  and  twigs  as  she  could 
find  by  a  hurried  search. 

She  did  not  stay  any  longer  than  she  thought 
was  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  her  patient  for  she 
was  determined  to  continue  her  care  of  him  if  pos 
sible  and  realized  that  a  prolonged  absence  from 
her  own  home  might  bring  suspicion  upon  them  both ; 
as  she  was  leaving,  she  looked  pitifully  weak  and 
small  to  cope  with  such  a  complicated  situation 


150  An  American 

alone ;  even  Manuello  realized,  for  a  moment,  the  de 
votion  of  the  girl,  and  called  her  over  to  his  side  to 
say  a  word  or  two  at  parting. 

"Dear  little  Tessa,"  he  began,  "this  is  going  to  be 
a  hard  task  that  you  have  undertaken.  I  wonder 
if  I  am  worth  all  this  trouble.  Perhaps  you  would 
just  better  turn  me  over  to  the  soldiers  and  let  them 
work  their  will  on  me ;  it  may  be  that  I  will  never  be 
able  to  reward  you  for  all  your  care;  of  course,  it 
may,  on  the  other  hand,  be  possible  for  me  to  offer 
you  help  and  comfort  when  you,  yourself,  may  be 
in  need  of  it.  Now  that  you  have  freed  me  from 
those  shackles,  I  begin  to  feel  my  old  strength  and 
courage  coming  back,  and  if  I  ever  am  again  as  I 
was  before  this  last  mishap,  I  will  surely  reward  you 
somehow  for  all  this  sacrifice  that  you  are  making 
for  me." 

This  speech,  coming  from  a  man  in  the  condition 
of  Manuello,  appealed  to  the  little  woman  so  forci 
bly  that  she  knelt  beside  his  rude  couch  and  laid  both 
her  small,  dark  hands  on  his  brow  as  she  looked 
deeply  into  his  eyes;  this  position,  being  very  fa 
vorable  to  the  impulse  that  came  over  the  man  as 
he  lay  there,  made  it  easy  for  him  to  draw  her  head, 
with  its  great  mass  of  black  hair,  down  upon  his 
shoulder;  as  her  cheek  was  laid  against  his  own, 
Manuello  held  her  small  face  closely  with  both  his 
hands  while  he  kissed  first  her  trembling  lips,  then 
each  of  her  eye-lids,  for  she  had  closed  her  eyes  in 


An  American  151 

a  sort  of  blind  ecstasy,  then  her  low  forehead,  then 
the  top  of  her  small  head  and,  finally,  her  quivering 
chin. 

The  impulse  that  prompted  him  to  give  these  wel 
come  caresses  lasted  only  a  moment  for  the  pain  in 
his  leg  was  beginning  to  be  very  insistent  and  a  groan 
of  agony  took  the  place  of  the  loving  words  that  had 
been  upon  his  eager  tongue  during  the  moment  when 
he  forgot  his  wound,  but  the  effect  of  those  few  wild 
moments  of  unbridled  passion  went  with  the  little 
woman  down  the  hill  and  covered  her  small  body  with 
a  delicious  glow  that  took  away  much  of  the  terror 
and  apprehension  with  which  she  viewed  the  situa 
tion  in  which  she  found  herself. 

Ruth  Wakefield  found  Estrella  to  be  much  more 
of  a  companion  than  she  had  thought  she  would,  and 
found  that,  in  the  innocence  and  naturally  responsive 
disposition  of  the  girl,  she  could  almost  forget  the 
tie  that  had  brought  them  together;  had  the  girl 
suspected  the  truth  as  to  Victorio's  relations  with 
the  mistress  of  the  mansion  on  the  hill,  the  situation 
might  have  been  strained  or  even  acute,  but,  as  it 
was,  Ruth  only  pitied,  while  she  almost  envied,  the 
sorrow  of  the  sweetheart  of  her  own  husband. 

On  the  morning  when  Manuello  had  discovered 
the  where-abouts  of  Estrella,  the  two  women  had  been 
watching  for  Father  Felix,  intending  to  consult  with 
him  concerning  something  that  they  both  wished  to 
do  and  yet  were  not  sure  of  the  wisdom  of;  when 


152  An  American 

he  came,  they  both  waited,  anxiously,  for  his  first 
words,  for  they  depended  upon  them  for  enlighten 
ment  regarding  a  question  in  which  they  were  both 
much  interested. 

"Miss  Ruth  and  Estrella,"  he  began,  addressing 
both  women,  "I  have  great  news  for  you  but  we  must 
be  cautious  in  discussing  what  I  have  to  impart  to 
you;  if,  through  our  carelessness,  the  information  I 
am  about  to  give  you,  should  miscarry,  it  might  mean 
almost  as  great  a  disaster  as  the  recent  explosion  in 
Havana  Harbor.  We  must  be  sure  that  we  are  not 
overheard.  I  think  we  would  better  repair  to  the  li 
brary,  Miss  Ruth,  if  that  would  meet  with  your 
approval.  I  think  we  would  be  more  secure  from 
eaves-droppers  inside  the  house  than  here.  I  just 
met  Manuello,  my  Dear,"  he  said  speaking  to 
Estrella,  "as  I  came  up  the  path.  I  do  not  like  to 
have  him  lurking  around  your  dwelling-place.  I  am 
sure  that  he  is  in  some  sort  of  hiding  from  the  au 
thorities  and  I  dread  to  have  him  near  you,  for  he 
has  an  evil  look  in  his  eyes,  lately.  Be  very  careful, 
my  Daughter,  as  you  go  about  the  place  or  into 
the  village  ...  it  might  even  be  well  for  you  to  re 
main  away  from  your  former  home  for  some  time 
to  come.  I  can  carry  any  news  of  you  that  will  be 
necessary  for  them  to  know  or  do  any  little  errands 
that  you  may  think  should  be  done.  By-the-way," 
he  ended,  turning  his  attention,  once  more,  to  Ruth, 
"I  met  your  old  nurse  hurrying  along  down  toward 


An  American  153 

the  village  as  if  in  great  haste ;  as  she  does  not  often 
walk  down  the  hill  I  noticed  the  circumstances." 

"Old  Mage!"  exclaimed  Ruth.  "Why,  I  did  not 
know  that  she  had  gone  out.  Do  you  know  anything 
of  this,  Estrella?  Did  she  tell  you  that  she  had  work 
to  do  in  the  village?  Was  there  something  that  had 
to  be  secured  for  the  larder,  at  once,  that  would  not 
brook  delay?  Dear  me,  I  hope  she  will  not  over-tire 
herself.  She  is  not  very  strong  any  more  and  I  try 
to  have  her,  always,  take  very  good  care  of  herself. 
As  you  may  know,  good  Father,"  she  went  on,  "old 
Mage  is  almost  the  only  living  human  friend  on  whom, 
I  can  rely  and  her  fealty  to  me  is  beyond  question. 
If  I  should  find  old  Mage  untrue  to  me,"  she  declared, 
"I  would  not  expect  the  sun  to  rise  the  following 
morning.  I  must  look  into  this,  and,  if  you  will  ex 
cuse  me  for  a  few  moments,  I  will  do  so  at  once." 

"Now,  my  Daughter,"  said  the  Priest  when 
Estrella  and  he  were  left  alone,  "I  wish  to  say  to 
you,  privately,  that  you  must,  from  this  time  on, 
avoid  meeting  Manuello  in  any  way,  both  for  your 
self  and  also  for  the  well-being  of  your  good  friend, 
Miss  Ruth ;  the  fellow  is  evil-minded,  lately,  and  I  be 
lieve  would  not  stop  at  robbery  or  even,  though  I 
greatly  regret  to  think  so,  murder"  he  uttered  the 
dreadful  word  softly  but  emphatically,  "if  he  be 
lieved  that  he  would  benefit  by  either  crime  and  I 
must  urge  you  not  to  allow  him  to  come  here  to  see 
you  under  any  possible  circumstances.  As  I  said 


154  An  American 

before,  I  can  do  what  must  be  done  as  between  your 
former  family  and  yourself." 

Estrella  gladly  acquiesced  in  this  good  judgment 
of  Father  Felix  and  agreed  to  do  all  in  her  power 
to  avoid  meeting  Manuello  which  she  had  no  desire, 
personally,  to  do,  as  she  dreaded  his  protestations 
of  love  as  much  as  she  would  have  dreaded  his  anger 
for  any  other  reason  in  the  common  affairs  of  daily 
life. 

In  a  short  time,  Ruth  returned,  explaining  that  old 
Mage  had,  indeed,  gone  down  to  the  village,  though 
for  what  purpose  she  had  been  unable,  so  far,  to  dis 
cover:  they,  then,  repaired  to  the  library  and  care 
fully  closed  all  doors  and  windows  before  Father 
Felix  began  to  tell  them  what  they  were  so  anxious 
to  hear. 

"My  dear  Friends,"  he  began,  "the  information 
that  I  have  to  impart  to  you  is  of  a  very  delicate 
as  well  as  secret  nature  and  must  be  so  regarded 
by  both  of  you.  Estrella,  to  you,  especially,  I  wish 
to  say  that  you  must  not,  under  any  circumstances, 
breathe  a  single  word  of  what  I  will  say  to  you  for 
it  is  of  vital  importance  to  the  native  land,  as  I  be 
lieve,  of  all  three  of  us.  For  I  have  reason  to  think 
that  you,  as  well  as  Miss  Ruth  and  myself,  are  an 
American.  I  know  that  all  of  your  sympathies  are 
with  our  native  land,  at  least,  and,  in  trusting  you 
with  this  information,  I  am,  in  a  measure,  making 


An  American  155 

you  one  of  us  in  deed  and  in  truth,  whether  you  are 
so  by  reason  of  your  birth  or  not.  Before  I  go  any 
fur'  her,  I  want  your  assurance  of  what  I  believe  to 
be  true." 

He  waited  a  moment  for  the  girl  to  speak,  then, 
seeing  her  evident  embarrassment,  he  added,  kindly: 

"You  need  have  no  fear  of  either  of  us,  Estrella. 
If  you  have  friends  in  this  wide  world,  you  are  with 
two  of  them  at  this  moment." 

At  these  earnest  words,  the  expression  of  the  girl's 
face  changed  somewhat  and  she  replied  to  the  implied 
interrogatory  of  the  Priest: 

"I,  also,  believe  that  I  am  an  American,  although 
I  do  not  know  anything  of  my  own  parentage  beyond 
what  my  foster  parents  have  told  me.  I  do  not  even 
know,"  she  blushed  while  she  made  the  statement, 
"whether  my  father  and  mother  had  been  married  be 
fore  my  birth.  ...  I  have  no  means  of  finding  out 
anything  more  of  myself  than  that  I  am  an  honest 
girl  and  that  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  both  you  and 
Miss  Ruth  for  your  great  kindness  to  me  in  my 
great  sorrow.  As  far  as  my  fealty  to  America  is 
concerned,"  she  ended,  proudly,  "I  am  as  true  to 
that  great  country  as  anyone  who  knows  himself  to 
be  a  citizen  of  it.  I  would,  gladly,  lay  my  feeble  life 
upon  the  altar  of  what  I  believe  to  be  my  native 
land  .  .  .  the  United  States  of  America." 

She    pronounced    the   words    with    reverence    and 


150  An  American 

bowed  her  head  as  if  in  prayer,  so  that  Father  Felix 
no  longer  hesitated,  but  proceeded,  at  once: 

"At  this  moment,  an  American  squadron  is  in 
Asiatic  waters,  ready  to  move,  at  the  moment  its 
Commander  receives  the  cablegram  from  the  Presi 
dent  of  our  own  country,  against  the  Spaniard,  al 
most  on  his  own  territory.  By  this  move  it  is  hoped 
to  so  cripple  him  that  we,  here,  in  Cuba,  may,  with 
the  help  of  our  soldiers  and  sailors,  conquer  and 
drive  from  the  Island  those  who  have  so  long  usurped 
the  places  of  great  power  among  us." 

When  the  good  Priest  had  pronounced  these  fate 
ful  words,  he  found  his  two  auditors  sitting  erect, 
as  if  at  attention,  with  hands  folded  in  their  laps, 
and  eyes  fixed  upon  his  face  in  breathless  eagerness. 
Ruth  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"I  pray  the  good  God,"  she  said,  softly  and  rever 
ently,  "I  pray  God  to  strengthen  the  hands  of  those 
who  are  to  do  this  great,  good  work !  I  trust  that 
those  who  will  be  engaged  in  battle  may  be  prepared 
to  meet  their  Maker  with  clean  hearts,  if  with  bloody 
hands.  War,"  she  cried,  suddenly,  losing  her  atti 
tude  of  prayer  in  the  violence  of  her  emotions,  "war 
is  a  terrible  calamity  but  it  seems  that,  only  through 
war  can  a  nation  be  purged  of  such  foul  crimes  as 
have  been  committed  right  here  in  Cuba." 

Estrella  watched  her  with  flashing  eyes  and  sym 
pathetic  expression  and  the  good  Priest  crossed  him- 


An  American  157 

self  and  clenched  his  fists  at  the  same  time,  for,  had 
occasion  required  such  action  at  his  hands,  it  was 
evident  that  Father  Felix  could  have  changed  from 
the  spiritual  guide  to  the  fiery  enthusiast  willing  to 
take  his  place  among  the  fighting  men  who  would 
defend  what  he  believed  to  be  a  sacred  cause. 

"Now,  Father  Felix,"  demanded  the  practical  side 
of  Ruth  Wakefield,  "what  action  can  we  take  in  this 
matter  to  help  the  good  cause?  Is  there  not  some 
preparation  that  we  can  make  to  welcome  our  sol 
diers  to  Cuba,  for,  of  course,"  she  lifted  her  head, 
proudly,  "our  boys  will  win  whatever  conflict  they 
may  become  engaged  in  ...  it  is  only  a  question  as 
to  how  many  of  them  may  be  injured  or  even  killed 
in  the  terrible  encounter.  Every  man  in  America," 
said  this  American  woman,  "is  a  soldier  if  he  is 
needed  in  that  capacity,  for  every  American,  man, 
woman  or  child,  is  a  patriot  .  .  .  devoted  to  the 
sacred  traditions  and  splendid  example  of  those  who 
followed  George  Washington  to  victory  over  those 
who  had  oppressed  and  insulted  them." 

"My  Daughters,"  said  Father  Felix,  rising,  <(I 
must  leave  you  for  the  present.  I  will  find  out  what 
we  may  do  to  assist  our  countrymen  and  will  come 
again  to  let  you  know  the  result  of  my  search  for 
further  information.  All  we  can  do,  now,  is  to  hold 
the  information  I  have  just  given  to  you  inviolate 
and  prepare  ourselves,  spiritually,  to  meet  whatever 


158  An  American 

emergency  may  arise.  My  Daughters,"  he  ended, 
stretching  out  his  hands  in  blessing  over  their  bowed 
heads,  "we  shall  have  work  to  do  and  we  will  do  it 
with  our  might.  May  God,  in  His  great  Mercy, 
guide  us  into  the  path  in  which  He  intended  us  to 
walk." 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  the  day  of  Manuello's  search  for  the  girl  he 
had  so  madly  and  hopelessly  loved,  old  Mage  made 
a  surreptitious  visit  to  the  little  cemetery  in  San 
Domingo  where  she  had  seen  the  body  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  laid  away  in  its  final  resting-place;  she  went 
among  the  new-made  graves,  of  which  there  were 
a  goodly  number  for  so  small  a  graveyard,  until 
she  found  the  one  she  sought :  she  stopped,  then,  took 
the  dried  leaves  from  the  top  of  her  large  basket, 
removed  a  beautiful  bunch  of  roses,  tied,  carefully, 
with  a  broad  blue  ribbon,  and  laid  them,  softly,  upon 
the  top  of  the  mound  of  fresh  earth;  after  having 
done  this,  she  took  a  small  object  wrapped  in  tissue 
paper,  from  the  very  bottom  of  the  basket,  dug  a 
small  hole  under  the  roses  and  buried  it,  covering 
it  carefully,  packing  the  ground  over  it,  at  first, 
and,  then  putting  loose  earth  over  the  top  of  the 
miniature  grave,  so  as  to  conceal  its  existence  as 
much  as  possible,  she  again  laid  the  roses  carelessly 
over  the  spot. 

Having  performed  this  little  ceremony,  old  Mage 
looked  down  at  her  handiwork  and  said,  apparently 

159 


160  An  American 

addressing  herself,  as  no  other  human  being  was  in 
sight  at  the  time: 

"There !  Now  I  hope  that  she  will  forget  all  about 
him  .  .  .  she  will  think  that  she  has  mislaid  the  ring 
...  I  had  a  hard  time  to  get  hold  of  it.  I  hope  that 
it  will  never  come  to  life  again  any  more  than  him 
...  let  them  both  lay  there  together.  You  lying 
pup,  you!"  she  cried,  shaking  her  trembling  old  fist 
at  the  grave.  "You  lay  there  and  don't  you  ever  try 
to  come  near  my  dear  young  Lady  again !  The  idea 
of  an  ignorant  thing  like  you  ever  daring  to  come 
near  her,  anyway.  I  wouldn't  be  so  darned  mad  at 
you,"  she  ended,  "for  you  were  a  mighty  good-look 
ing  fellow  and  any  woman  might  have  been  proud 
of  your  appearance,  once  she  could  overlook  your 
dark  skin,  but  you  even  fooled  me,  doggone  you ! 
You  lay  there,  now,  and  never  do  you  dare  to  try 
to  fool  any  more  women  .  .  .  three  of  us  is  enough 
in  this  neighborhood,  anyway." 

She  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief  after  this  speech 
and  hurried  out  of  the  cemetery  with  her  empty 
basket;  she  had  slipped  away  when  she  thought  no 
one  was  observing  her  and  intended  to  tell  Ruth  after 
her  return  what  she  had  done  with  the  exception  of 
any  reference  to  the  ring  which,  as  the  reader  may 
have  guessed,  was  the  wedding  ring  that  Ruth  had, 
up  to  this  time,  kept  always  on  her  left  hand  or 
in  her  jewel-case  on  her  little  dressing-table  before 
which  she  always  sat  when  she  combed  and  brushed 


An  American  161 

her  long  and  beautifully  luxuriant  brown  hair;  she 
had  taken  the  ring  off  the  night  before,  little  dream 
ing  that  she  was  touching  it  for  the  last  time,  and 
sadly  laid  it  among  her  jewels,  thinking  of  the  bright 
face  and  laughing  dark  eyes  that  had  looked  so  hand 
some  to  her  when  he  had  put  that  little  ring  upon 
her  finger,  whispering  of  his  undying  love  and  of  the 
fact  that  she  and  she  alone  was,  and  had  been  since 
his  first  meeting  with  her,  the  entire  mistress  of  his 
hither-to  untouched  heart;  she  had  even  shed  a  few 
tears  over  the  little  ring,  then,  and  old  Mage,  silently 
witnessing  this  fact,  determined  that  she  should  never 
again  have  that  opportunity ;  so,  after  Ruth  was 
sweetly  sleeping,  the  old  woman  slipped  into  her  room 
and  removed  the  object  of  her  scorn;  she  lay  awake 
almost  all  of  that  night,  planning  how  to  secrete  or 
do  away  with  the  visible  bond  that  had  united  her 
dear  young  Lady  to  an  unworthy  mate;  at  length, 
toward  daylight,  it  seemed  to  old  Mage  as  if  some 
one  had  whispered  to  her  what  to  do  with  the  ring 
so  that  poetic  justice  would  be  done  to  the  first 
youthful  passion  of  Ruth  Wakefield's  innocent  life; 
acting  upon  this  suggestion,  for  so  it  seemed  to  her, 
feeling  sure  that  she  had  solved  the  problem  so  nearly 
affecting  the  life  of  the  one  she  loved  best  in  all  her 
world,  she  carried  out  the  plan  she  instantly  formed, 
and^  while  she  was  a  very  weary  old  woman,  from 
lack  of  sleep  and  unusual  exercise,  when  she  again 
reached  her  much-loved  home,  she  had  within  her 


162  An  American 

spirit  a  sense  of  satisfaction  that  was  beyond  any 
thing  she  had  felt  since  Ruth  had  married  the  man 
whose  grave  she  had,  that  morning,  visited ;  she  felt, 
in  some  sense,  to  blame  for  the  marriage,  as  she  had 
not  strenuously  opposed  it,  and  found  herself  much 
in  the  position  she  used  to  occupy  when  Ruth  had 
been  a  little  tot  and  she  had  allowed  her  to  do  some 
small  thing  of  which  she  knew  her  parents  would  not 
approve. 

Now,  she  felt  relieved  because,  as  it  seemed  to  her, 
she  had  sort  of  evened  up  matters,  and,  after  inform 
ing  Ruth  that  she  had  gone  to  the  grave  and  put  the 
roses  there,  she  never  intended  to  speak  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  again,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  she  intended  to 
rid  Ruth  of  his  memory;  with  this  thought  in  mind, 
she  picked  up  many  little  memontos  of  him  which  she 
found  lying  about  the  place  ...  a  guitar  here  and 
a  ribbon  there  ...  a  photograph,  perhaps,  showing 
the  dashing  young  Cuban  in  military  dress,  which 
much  became  him,  or  mounted  on  a  fine  horse  which 
he,  for  the  moment,  had  secured  the  use  of  ...  even 
in  one  picture  he  appeared  standing,  proudly,  behind 
Ruth  as  if  protecting  her ;  all  of  these  and  anything 
else  that  old  Mage  could  find  that  would  inevitably 
remind  Ruth  of  the  man  she  had  married,  she  de 
stroyed  ruthlessly  and  with  inward  glee;  her  object 
in  all  this  was,  really,  to  protect  her  dear  young 
Lady,  and,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  she  had  as  nearly 
a  fiendish  delight  as  it  was  possible  for  her  ever  to 


An  American  163 

entertain,  in,  as  she  naively  put  it  to  herself,  "get 
ting  even"  with  the  handsome  fellow  who  had  "pulled 
the  wool  over'*  her  own  eyes  as  well  as  the  brighter 
and  stronger  ones  of  her  young  Lady. 

Ruth  Wakefield  was  never  enlightened  as  to  this 
little  by-play,  but  she  reaped  the  benefits  of  it  in 
many  ways,  for  it  is  true  that  visible  reminders  are 
necessary  to  a  great  many  people,  and,  even  the 
strongest  minds  are  affected  by  the  sudden  sight  of 
something  reminding  them  of  some  object  formerly 
dear  to  them ;  it  will  give  almost  anyone  a  start  to 
come,  unexpectedly,  upon  a  picture  or  almost  any 
tangible  token  of  someone  once  dear,  no  matter  what 
may  have  happened  to  take  away  that  quality; 
lovers,  by  preserving  evidence,  like  withered  flowers, 
pictures,  songs  and  poems,  often  lay  up  for  them 
selves  future  agony  of  spirit  .  .  .  the  objects  that 
are  so  dear  to  them  may  turn  about  and  rend  their 
inmost  souls ;  full  many  times,  it  were  better  had  the 
love-tokens  been  destroyed  in  some  such  way  as  old 
Mage  did  away  with  the  visible  memories  attached 
to  the  objects  which  her  eager  hands  closed  upon; 
this  secret  employment,  necessarily  long  drawn  out, 
as  she  did  not  wish  to  be  discovered  in  her  labor  of 
love,  took  up  a  good  deal  of  the  extra  time  she  found 
herself  in  possession  of  on  account  of  the  presence 
of  Estrella  in  the  home,  for  the  girl  took  up  many 
household  duties,  gladly  and  naturally,  knowing  that 
in  work  she  could,  to  some  extent,  forget  her  own 


164  An  American 

sorrow,  and  wishing  to  lighten  the  labors  of  old  Mage 
who  was  always  kind  to  her. 

After  the  information  imparted  to  Ruth  by 
Father  Felix,  regarding  national  affairs,  she  was 
very  thoughtful  and  very  busy,  for  there  were  very 
many  ways  in  which  she  could  make  preparations  to 
begin  the  duties  which  she  expected  to  take  up  as 
soon  as  occasion  would  require  them  of  her;  she 
studied  into  trained  nursing  and  found  a  sort  of 
school  in  Havana  to  which  she  took  Estrella  and 
where  they  both  learned  many  essential  things  per 
taining  to  the  calling  which  they  were  both  trying 
to  fit  themselves  for;  in  many  ways  they  were  both 
better  prepared  for  the  work  of  caring  for  the  sick 
and  wounded  than  many  women  would  ever  become, 
no  matter  how  much  they  would  be  trained,  for  they 
were  both  earnest  and  helpful,  tender-hearted  and 
serious;  in  all  wars,  there  are  women  who  seek  the 
familiar  association  with  men  which  the  calling  of  a 
nurse  entails,  with  no  better  object  than  just  the 
proximity  to  masculine  humanity  involved,  but  there 
are,  also,  such  women  as  Ruth  Wakefield  who  had  no 
thought  in  the  matter  except  to  help  where  help  of 
her  should  anywhere  be  needed  ...  to  succor  those 
who  were  not  to  blame  for  the  accidents  that  had 
befallen  them  .  .  .  who  were,  indeed,  entitled  to  the 
tenderest  consideration  on  account  of  the  very  acci 
dents  which  had  laid  them  on  the  clean,  white  cots 
that  are  stretched  along  the  wards  and  in  the  private 


An  American  165 

rooms  of  the  great,  shadowy  hospitals  where  tender 
women  bend  above  the  beds  of  pain  and  minister  to 
those  who  lie  there,  suffering  and  weak,  both  in  body 
and  spirit. 

On  one  of  these  numerous  visits  to  Havana,  Ruth 
met  a  man  who  was  an  old  friend  of  her  father's 
who  was  much  interested  in  her  lonely  life  and  who 
came  out  to  her  home  to  consult  with  her  regarding 
the  prospects  of  her  being  surrounded  by  the  din  and 
pomp  of  actual  warfare ;  at  first,  as  he  viewed  the  sit 
uation  she  was  placed  in,  he  felt  as  Father  Felix  had 
as  to  her  staying  in  Cuba,  in  her  immediate  future, 
but  listened  to  her  patriotic  resolve  with  high  en 
thusiasm,  as  he  was  intensely  patriotic  himself  and 
loved  to  think  that  she  was  every  inch  an  American 
although  her  life  had,  almost  all  of  it,  been  spent 
away  from  her  native  land. 

Just  as  this  man  was  leaving  her  home,  one  day, 
for  he  had  been  making  frequent  visits  there,  he 
turned  to  look  at  her  as  she  stood  between  the  pillar- 
like  gate-posts  at  the  entrance  to  the  drive  that  led 
to  her  residence ;  the  picture  she  made,  standing  there 
in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  lingered  in  his  mem 
ory  long  after  he  had  ceased  to  see  her  as  he  saw  her, 
then ;  Ruth  was  very  fond  of  flowers  and  often  wore 
a  rose  tucked  in  among  the  coils  of  her  beautiful, 
shining  hair;  that  evening,  her  selection  among  her 
flowers  for  this  use  had  been  a  bunch  of  English 
violets ;  the  deep  blue  of  the  dainty  blossoms  accentu- 


166  An  American 

ated  the  clear  gray  color  of  her  star-like  eyes  .  .  . 
her  healthy  skin  reflected  the  sunset  after-glow  which 
was  beginning  to  appear  in  the  western  sky ;  her  small 
mouth,  with  its  cute  corners,  puckered  up  as  if,  she 
used  to  say  when  a  child,  it  had  been  too  large  to  be 
gin  with  and  had  been  shirred  at  the  corners  to  make 
it  the  desired  size,  registered  each  change  of  her  in 
ner  feelings ;  her  dress  was  elegant,  yet  simple,  and 
her  poise  was  splendid;  there  are  few  earthly  women 
who  have  sufficient  poise  of  manner  and  of  nervous 
strength;  most  of  them  become  excited  and  dis 
traught  under  slight  stress  of  circumstances,  but 
Ruth  Wakefield  was  an  exception  to  this  very  general 
rule ;  there  were  very  few  things  that  could  shake  her 
from  her  serenity  of  purpose  and  intention;  one  of 
these  things  was  being  a  witness  to  any  injustice  .  .  . 
an  indignity  put  upon  a  weaker  creature  by  a 
stronger  one,  whether  the  creature  be  gifted  with  the 
power  to  express  its  feelings  in  human  speech  or  not ; 
those  who  knew  her  best,  were  well  aware  of  her 
strong  regard  for  the  rights  of  so-called  "dumb  ani 
mals"  .  .  .  her  loving  sympathy  went  out  to  every 
old  or  poorly  cared  for  horse  she  saw;  she  had  been 
heard  to  say  that  she  would  dearly  love  to  have  a 
good  pasture,  with  waving  grasses  and  running  water 
and  sheltering  trees  where  she  could  gather  together 
all  the  illy-used  horses  in  the  world  and  then  just 
watch  them  enjoy  their  surroundings;  the  smaller 
creatures,  also,  were  her  friends  .  .  .  little  Tid-i- 


An  American  167 

wats,  to  whom  we  have  already  been  introduced,  was 
a  feline  of  very  uncertain  temper  and  most  impulsive 
and  nerve-racking  little  habits,  yet  to  Ruth  she  could 
always  go  and  be  sure  of  a  loving  reception  no  matter 
to  what  lengths  she  had  gone,  for  Tid-i-wats  was  far 
from  being  a  perfect  little  cat ;  she  very  often  re 
verted  to  her  original  type  and  did  things  that  no  cat 
with  a  civilized  ancestry  would  have  even  thought 
could  be  done;  but  she  knew  that  Ruth  would  only 
say: 

"She  is  not  feeling  very  well,  to-day ;  she  is  begin 
ning  to  show  her  years  a  little ;  I  noticed  a  white  hair 
only  today,  on  her  little  neck;  she  is  my  own  old 
baby-cat,  anyway,  and  I  will  always  take  as  good 
care  of  her  as  I  possibly  can." 

She  would  watch  Ruth,  calmly,  while  she  straight 
ened  out  whatever  she,  her  own  self,  had  made  it  nec 
essary  to  straighten,  and,  then,  when  the  young 
woman  would,  finally,  sit  down,  no  matter  where  Tid- 
i-wats  happened  to  be  located  at  the  time,  she  would 
very  soon  land  on  Ruth's  lap  with  no  fear  of  a  scold 
ing  even ;  she  took  advantage  of  the  gentle  disposi 
tion  of  her  care-taker,  same  as  so  many  humans  did. 

Ruth's  father's  friend  looked  long  and  earnestly 
at  the  tall,  straight,  slender  figure  standing  there  at 
the  entrance  to  her  almost  palatial  home  and  the  pic 
ture  remained  in  his  memory  during  the  balance  of 
his  earthly  life. 

While  Ruth  Wakefield  and  Estrella  were  preparing 


168  An  American 

themselves  to  assist  their  fellow-countrymen  in  case 
they  should  be  needed,  events  were  shaping  them 
selves  so  that  it  seemed  likely  that  Cuba  would  be 
the  stage  for  the  setting  of  as  heroic  a  play  as  the 
world  had  ever  witnessed:  Commodore  Dewey  had 
bottled  up  the  Spanish  fleet  in  Manila  Bay  and 
Naval-Constructor  Richmond  P.  Hobson  had  exe 
cuted  his  daring  and  unheard-of  feat  although  the 
gallant  Merrimac  was  sunk  in  Santiago  harbor. 

Soon  after  the  formal  declaration  of  war  on  April 
25,  1898,  President  McKinley  sent  forth  a  call  for 
volunteers  to  enter  the  United  States  army  and  navy. 
Instantly,  almost,  the  ranks  were  more  than  filled 
with  active,  alert,  capable  men,  anxious,  each  one  of 
them,  to  do  his  full  share  of  the  work  that  lay  before 
his  beloved  land. 

It  was  while  active  preparations  for  a  war  carried 
on  in  the  interests  of  humanity  were  progressing  rap 
idly  that  Theodore  Roosevelt  became  prominent  as 
representing  the  highest  type  of  American  manhood ; 
he  threw  himself,  bodily,  into  the  breach  in  the  inter 
ests  of  his  country;  there  was  no  personal  sacrifice 
which  he  was  unwilling  to  make  ...  no  task  too 
hard  for  him  to  attempt.  He  became,  at  once,  an 
acknowledged  and  adored  leader  of  the  young  Ameri 
cans  who  crowded  around  him,  loving  him  like  a 
brother,  and,  at  the  same  time,  revering  his  quick 
judgment  and  his  dauntless  courage. 

There  is  no  figure  in  American  history  more  heroic 


An  American  169 

or  more  admired  than  that  of  Theodore  Roosevelt, 
mounted  on  a  noble  horse,  in  the  uniform  of  a  United 
States  Volunteer  and  wearing  a  wide  campaign  hat. 

Ruth  Wakefield  was  kept  well  informed  as  to  what 
was  being  done  by  her  own  people,  mainly  through 
the  kindness  of  Father  Felix  who  seldom  missed  an 
evening's  visit  with  her  and  her  almost  constant  com 
panion,  Estrella ;  the  two  girls,  for  they  were  no  more 
than  that  in  spite  of  what  they  had  passed  through, 
had  become  the  best  of  understanding  friends ;  the 
younger  girl  seldom  spoke  of  her  dead  lover  and  Ruth 
found  that  the  memory  of  her  husband  had  been 
forced  into  the  background  of  her  thoughts  by  the 
march  of  passing  events. 

One  evening,  Father  Felix  climbed  the  narrow 
pathway  to  the  mansion  on  the  hill  and  found  Ruth 
alone  as  Estrella,  who  was  her  almost  constant  com 
panion,  now,  had  gone  to  the  village  on  one  of  her 
infrequent  visits  to  her  little  friend,  Tessa. 

The  good  Priest  was  glad  to  find  Ruth  alone  as  he 
had  news  of  great  importance  for  her  .  .  .  news  that 
would  lead  to  great  developments  in  the  near  future ; 
after  being  assured  of  their  entire  privacy,  he  said: 

"We  will  have  work  to  do,  my  dear  Daughter,  be 
fore  many  more  months  have  passed  by.  The  Ameri 
can  people  have  endured  the  sight  of  the  injustice 
and  oppression  exercised  by  the  Spanish  authorities 
toward  the  helpless  Cubans  for  a  long  time,  now,  and 
are  becoming  more  and  more  determined  to  break  the 


170  An  American 

Spanish  rule.  You  and  I  must  be  prepared  to  assist 
and  succor  our  own  dear  boys  when  they  begin  to 
smite  the  enemy  of  right  and  justice,  hip  and  thigh. 
My  course  in  this  work  has  been  made  plain  before 
me.  ...  I  have  applied  for  the  position  of  Chaplain 
in  the  United  States  service  and  I  trust  that  they 
will  allow  me  to  accompany  my  little  flock  right  into 
the  midst  of  every  battle  in  which  they  will  be  en 
gaged.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  path  in  this  matter, 
my  Daughter,  is,  also,  plain  .  .  .  you  can  turn  this 
charming  home  into  a  hospital  to  which  the  sorely 
wounded  or  those  who  have  fallen  ill  from  any  cause 
may  be  brought  and  where  they  may  receive  the  ten 
der  care  which  they  will  deserve  from  every  loyal 
heart  and  hand.  I  am  certain  that  you  will  find  work 
for  Estrella  as  well  as  for  every  member  of  your 
family,  here,  in  this  connection,  also  you  will  be  ably 
assisted  by  many  who  will  flock  to  your  standard 
when  they  understand  what  you  are  doing.  I,  myself, 
will  always  assist  you  in  every  way  in  my  power  and 
I  may  be  able  to  spare  you  some  uncertainty  and, 
possibly,  also,  some  unpleasantness.  My  Daughter," 
he  ended,  "there  will  be  work  for  us  to  do  that  will 
require  all  our  strength  and  courage.  .  .  .  May  God, 
in  His  great  Wisdom,  guide  and  help  us." 

Ruth  clasped  her  hands  and  bowed  her  head  as 
Father  Felix  prayed  for  God's  blessing  on  whatever 
enterprise  they  should  be  called  upon  to  undertake  in 
the  great  cause  in  which  they  were  both  enlisted. 


An  American  171 

After  the  good  Priest  had  disappeared  down  the 
narrow  path  that  led  to  the  little  village  of  San  Do 
mingo,  she  sat,  for  a  long  time,  in  deep  revery,  re 
flecting  on  the  peace  and  prosperity  that  then  covered 
the  tropical  Island  upon  which  she  had  lived  for  so 
many  years  and  trying  to  imagine  what  changes  were 
likely  to  come  in  the  wake  of  the  probable  conflict  of 
two  great  nations,  for  Ruth  realized  that  America 
was  meeting  a  foe  worthy  of  her  steel  in  Spain  whose 
far-famed  Armada  had  been  made  the  subject  of  song 
and  story ;  she  had  no  doubt  of  the  final  outcome  .  .  . 
whatever  America  attempted,  that  she  would  accom 
plish  .  .  .  but  how  many  splendid  American  men 
would  have  to  lie  upon  the  bloody  battle-fields  that 
would  spring  up  all  around  her  was  yet  an  unsolved 
problem;  and  that,  she  thought,  proudly  and  de 
votedly,  would  be  her  work  ...  to  find  those  splen 
did  American  heroes,  and  to  do  for  them  as  much  as 
if  each  one  of  them  had  been  her  own  blood  brother 
...  to  succor  the  wounded  and  bury  the  dead. 

This  line  of  thought  led  her,  inevitably,  to  the 
grave  already  lying  under  the  moonlight  so  near  to 
her  home,  and,  upon  a  sudden  and  almost  irresistable 
impulse,  she  snatched  a  wrap  from  the  rack  in  the 
hall  and  started  down  toward  the  little  cemetery, 
thinking  to  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  the  grave  of 
the  man  who  had  been,  if  only  for  a  few  short  months, 
her  husband. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

RUTH  descended  the  hill  with  firm,  sure  steps  for 
she  was  strong  in  body  as  well  as  in  spirit;  she  had 
reached  the  gate  of  the  little  cemetery  before  the  im 
pulse  that  had  prompted  her  action  had  had  time  to 
lose  any  of  its  power,  but,  as  she  opened  the  gate  and 
realized  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  her  natural  caution 
led  her  to  pause  for  a  second  and  take  in  her  sur 
roundings  ;  she  at  once  became  conscious  of  the  sound 
of  a  low,  sobbing  voice  saying : 

"Dear  God,  I  came  here  all  alone  hoping  that  You 
would  forgive  him  for  the  crime  that  he  committed 
if  I  came  to  you  in  secret  beside  the  grave  of  him 
whose  life  he  took  .  .  .  the  sin  is  lying  heavily  upon 
his  soul  and  I  wish  to  lift  it  from  him  by  sacrificing 
my  own  peace  of  mind  so  that  it  may  be  bestowed 
upon  him,  for  he  suffers  grievously  from  his  wound, 
dear  God,  he  suffers  very  grievously.  ...  I  pray 
that  You  will  put  the  sorrow  for  his  crime  upon  me 
instead  of  him  so  that  I  may  help  him,  for  he  is 
greatly  in  need  of  more  help  than  I  can  give  him,  be 
ing  but  a  simple-minded,  feeble,  little  peasant  and 
unfit  to  carry  this  heavy  load." 

The  supplication  ended  in  a  rush  of  sobs  that  shook 
172 


An  American  173 

the  inner  consciousness  of  her  who  listened  to  them, 
for  Ruth  was  tender-hearted  above  all  her  other  in 
stincts  ;  she  advanced  into  the  little  cemetery,  then, 
with  far  different  feelings  than  the  ones  that  brought 
her  there. 

The  sounds  that  she  had  heard  came  from  the  same 
direction  she  had  meant  to  take  to  reach  the  grave 
of  Victorio  Colenzo,  so  she  proceeded  along  the  little 
path  that  she  had  followed,  in  secret,  more  than  once 
before,  for,  with  Estrella  in  her  home,  she  could  not 
visit  the  last  resting-place  of  the  body  of  the  man 
whom  she  had  loved  as  very  young  and  innocent 
women  will,  often,  love  a  creature  all  unworthy  of 
such  affection,  except  surreptitiously ;  so  that  it  was 
easy  for  her  to  wind  among  the  simple  little  head 
stones  until  she  came  to  the  grave  she  sought. 

The  form  her  eyes  could  just  discern  beside  the 
tomb  was  small  and  slight  and  cowering  down  as  if, 
indeed,  in  earnest  supplication ;  Ruth  advanced  until 
she  was  standing  very  near  the  silent  woman  and,  not 
wishing  to  startle  and  confuse  her  by  a  sudden  word, 
she  very  gently  touched  her  bowed  head;  instantly, 
the  girl  sprang  up  in  wild  alarm,  for  it  had  taken  all 
her  courage  to  come  there  at  all ;  Ruth  reassured  her 
as  quickly  as  she  could  by  saying,  softly : 

"Do  not  fear,  whoever  you  may  be ;  I  am  but  an 
other  woman  like  yourself  and  I  wish  to  help  you  no 
matter  what  it  is  that  is  so  troubling  you ;  we  women 
should  assist  each  other  in  this  world,  for  women,  as 


174<  An  American 

it  seems  to  me,  were  put  into  the  world  to  suffer, 
mainly,  so  we  ought  to  try  to  help  each  other.  Tell 
me  what  there  is  that  I  can  do  to  help  you,  now." 

Tessa,  for  the  reader  has,  no  doubt,  guessed  that  it 
was  she,  began  to  sob  wildly  and  clung  to  the  other 
woman  who  had  come  to  her  so  strangely ;  she  could 
not  speak,  at  first,  for  crying,  and,  then,  she  could 
not  speak  for  fear  of  injuring  the  man  she  loved,  and, 
so,  she  did  not  speak  at  all,  but  ran  away  without 
one  word  of  explanation,  thinking  in  that  way  she 
might  avoid  discovery. 

But  the  incident  had  shaken  Ruth  so  that  the  mem 
ory  of  the  man  whose  body  lay  within  that  narrow 
grave  grew  dim  and  far  away ;  she  knew  that  he  had 
been  unworthy  of  her  love  and  must  have  scouted  it  in 
secret  many  times,  for,  if  he  had  not  done  so,  how 
could  he  have  made  such  love  to  poor  Estrella  as  he 
had  while  she,  his  lawful  wife,  yet  lived  upon  the 
earth?  Ruth  Wakefield  had  often  said  that  truth 
was  truth  no  matter  where  it  fell  .  .  .  she'd  even  said 
that  she  would  blame  herself  when  blame  was  hers  to 
bear,  and,  so,  she  could  not  shield  the  memory  of  the 
newly  dead  too  far,  and,  so,  she  turned  away  from 
that  low  grave  and  never  went  there  again,  and,  as 
she  slowly  climbed  the  hill  that  led  her  to  her  own 
loved  home,  Estrella  overtook  her  in  the  path  and, 
hand  in  hand  with  her  who  had  been  wronged  as  she, 
herself,  had  been,  she  left  the  memory  of  the  hand 
some,  gay  deceiver  lying  there  within  the  narrow 


An  American  175 

grave  that  hid  his  fast  decaying  body  from  the  world 
of  living  men  and  women ;  from  that  time,  she  did  not 
suffer,  in  thinking  of  him,  as  she  had  before;  there 
are  turning  points  in  every  road  no  matter  where  it 
leads  to,  and  this  was  a  turn  for  Ruth  in  that  sad 
road  where  she  had  strayed,  but  only  for  a  short  and 
most  unhappy,  if,  at  moments,  wildly  joyous,  time. 

When  Tessa  left  the  grave  of  Victorio  Colenzo, 
she  fled  in  haste  and  fright;  she  did  not  go  at  once 
to  her  own  home  for  she  feared  that  she  might  be 
followed ;  she  had  become  a  fugitive  as  truly  as  Manu- 
ello  was,  for,  now,  she  was  to  him  as  if  she  were,  in 
deed,  his  wife,  attending  to  all  wants  of  his  that  she 
could  satisfy,  and,  secretly  and  silently,  becoming 
but  the  shadow  of  the  gay  and  pretty  girl  that  she 
had  been  before ;  her  friends,  who  saw  her  often,  noted 
this  sad  change,  but  did  not  know  its  cause. 

Father  Felix  watched  the  girl  at  times  and  pitied 
her,  for  he  had  learned  that  she  had  been  devoted 
to  the  handsome  peasant  whom  he  also  was  assured 
was  guilty  of  some  crime  and,  since  his  disappear 
ance,  he  had  figured  out  some  things  that  made  him 
almost  certain  what  the  crime  had  been,  for  the  good 
Priest  was  much  alone  and  thought  more  deeply  about 
many  things  than  those  who  have  not  followed  psychic 
lines  of  reasoning. 

One  morning,  Father  Felix  went,  again,  to  visit 
Ruth,  and  found  Estrella  with  her,  and  he  asked  the 
girl  about  her  little  friend  who  had  been  dear  to  her 


176  An  American 

from  early  little  girlhood ;  Estrella  told  him  that  she 
had  not  seen  her  for  some  time,  as,  when  she'd  gone 
to  visit  her,  she  had  been  gone,  and  Tessa  had  not 
come  to  see  her  as  she'd  asked  her  to,  for  she  had 
left  word  for  her  where  to  come  to  find  her,  knowing 
she  could  trust  her,  for  she'd  always  been  a  true  and 
faithful  friend  to  her. 

The  good  Priest  pondered  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said: 

"I  wish  that  you  would  go,  at  once,  to  see  your 
little  friend ;  I  think  that  she  is  at  her  home  at  pres 
ent,  and  I  wish  that  you  would  try  to  discover  what 
it  is  that  is  troubling  her,  for  she  is  most  unhappy 
over  something  and  I  wish  that  you  would  help  her 
if  you  can  for  she  is  in  need  of  understanding  help  at 
this  time  more  than  at  any  time  during  my  acquaint 
ance  with  her.  Go,  my  Daughter,  find  your  little 
friend  and  try  to  assist  her  if  you  can." 

Estrella,  having  secured  the  permission  of  Ruth, 
followed  the  advice  of  the  good  Priest  and  departed 
on  her  errand  of  love  and  kindness. 

When  Father  Felix  had  been  assured  of  their 
privacy,  he  turned  to  his  companion  and  said: 

"I  have  information  of  importance  to  give  you,  my 
Daughter.  We  are  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
goal  we  seek.  Our  compatriots  are  growing  weary  of 
blockading  Havana  and  other  harbors  near  to  us 
and  will  very  soon  advance  into  the  interior  of  Cuba. 
When  that  time  comes  there  will  be  great  suffering 


An  American  177 

all  around  us  and  I  think  that  it  will  be  best  for  you 
and  me  to  form  a  sort  of  secret  society  with  pass 
words,  which,  while  simple  in  themselves,  will  convey 
to  us  a  secret  meaning.  You  and  I  must  act  as  one 
in  this  matter.  ...  I  am  sure  of  your  fealty  and  you 
can  rely  upon  mine  but  how  many  others  there  are 
near  to  us  upon  whose  loyalty  we  can  depend  I  do 
not  know.  Estrella  is  discreet  and  thoughtful  for  an 
uneducated  and  untrained  girl,  but  she  would  have  no 
idea  of  what  course  to  pursue  under  complicated  or 
difficult  circumstances,  so  that  it  may  be  necessary  to 
keep  many  events  secret  from  her.  There  are  many 
spies  already  in  Cuba  and  there  are  those  among  us 
who  would  be  willing  to  exchange  the  lives  and  prop 
erty  of  their  best  friends  for  personal  emolument.  I 
know  one  young  fellow  who  has,  as  I  believe,  already 
sold  his  birthright  of  truth  and  honor  for  a  mess  of 
pottage  and  there  are  others  of  his  ilk.  I  rely  on 
you  alone  in  all  this  village  of  San  Domingo  .  .  . 
you,  alone,  are  strong  and  capable  .  .  .  you,  alone, 
are  thoroughly  American  and  devoted  to  your  native 
land.  I  rely  on  you,  my  Daughter,  and  you  may  rely 
on  me.  Let  us  now  arrange  a  secret  pact  between 
us  so  that,  should  we  be  separated,  we  may  be  sure 
of  any  word  that  each  may  send  the  other.  If  I  send 
to  you  a  message  adding  to  the  body  of  it  the  word 
pax  alone,  then  I  will  mean  to  signify  that  all  is  well 
with  me  and  that  I  do  not  know  of  any  secret  danger 
threatening  you,  but  if  to  the  word  pax  I  add  vobis- 


178  An  American 

cum,  then  you  are  to  be  made  aware  that  danger 
threatens  you,  while  I  may,  yet,  be  safe  from  it,  but 
if  I  say  Pax  vobiscus  then  I'll  mean  that  we  are  both 
in  danger  of  a  similar  nature ;  if  I  send  these  latter 
words,  you  are  to  use  all  means  of  safety  at  your 
command  to  seclude  yourself  from  outside  notice 
just  as  much  as  possible  and  to  try  to  find  me  if  you 
can  do  so  without  exposure  to  yourself ;  but  if  I  say 
just  pax  then  I  mean  what  the  word  implies,  and  you 
may  go  to  and  from  your  home  with  freedom.  I  will 
come  to  see  you  just  as  often  as  I  can  and  I  will 
arrange  to  have  the  officers  of  our  own  army  and 
navy  visit  you  and  then  you  will  use  your  own  good 
judgment  combined  with  what  knowledge  they  will 
give  to  you  as  to  how  you  will  proceed,  knowing  that 
my  spirit  will  be  with  you  even  if  my  body  cannot  be 
.  .  .  even  if  I  should  be  separated  from  this  perish 
able  body,  my  Daughter,  I  think  that  God  would  let 
me  come  to  you  to  help  you.  .  .  .  He  would  know 
our  need  and  it  is  my  belief  He  would  supply  it.  Let 
us  pray  to  Him  for  guidance,  now,  before  I  leave  you 
for  the  night.  Father  in  heaven,  protect  and  guide 
our  footsteps  while  we  stay  upon  this  mundane  sphere 
of  spiritual  action.  Help  us  do  what  we  were  meant 
to  do  and  teach  us  how  to  walk  in  unknown  paths 
which  we  are,  now,  about  to  enter  on.  May  what  is 
just  and  right  be  conquerors  in  conflicts  that  will, 
very  soon,  be  carried  on  about  us.  May  the  souls  of 
those  about  to  leave  this  world  be  prepared  for  the 


An  American  179 

great  change  from  this  world  to  another  one,  and 
may  we,  who  are  Thy  humble  servants,  do  the  things 
that  will  be  pleasing  in  Thy  sight.  Bless  us,  now,  and 
guide  us  unto  Thee.  Amen." 

When  Estrella  reached  the  home  of  little  Tessa, 
she  found  her  friend  about  to  go  somewhere  but 
where  she  would  not  say  .  .  .  she  seemed  so  much 
distraught  about  it  that  Estrella  did  not  ask  the  sec 
ond  time  where  she  was  going ;  she  could  see  that  she 
had  made  some  preparations  for  the  journey,  for  she 
had  a  small  bag  filled  with  eatables  and  a  jug  of 
home-made  vintage  in  her  hands;  Estrella  plainly 
saw  how  distressed  she  was  and  how  wan  and  weary, 
too,  and,  so,  she  only  stayed  a  very  short  time; 
but,  when  she  went  away,  she  only  went  just  far 
enough  to  be  where  Tessa  could  not  see  her  .  .  . 
then  she  watched  her  little  friend,  but  only  with  the 
kindest  thoughts  of  her,  and  saw  her  take  an  unused, 
winding  path  a  little  ways,  then  hasten  on  without  a 
path  at  all,  so  far  as  she  could  see ;  she  wound  among 
the  cacti,  fearlessly,  as  if  upon  a  very  important  er 
rand,  and  as  if  she  feared  that  she  would  be  too  late 
to  do  the  errand  she  was  bent  upon ;  Estrella  watched 
her  for  a  time,  and,  then,  still  with  the  kindest 
thoughts  of  Tessa,  followed  after  her,  but  far  enough 
behind  her  so  she  could  not  see  her  .  .  .  she  would 
stoop  behind  a  friendly  bit  of  brush  whenever  little 
Tessa  turned  around  and  gazed  about  her  like  a 
startled  little  bird  about  to  seek  its  hidden  nest ;  so, 


180  An  American 

unobserved,  Estrella  followed  after  her,  and  came,  at 
length,  to  that  small  clearing  where  the  ruined  hut 
had  stood  for  many  years ;  Estrella  knew  about  it, 
having  found  it  at  the  same  time  Manuello  had,  in 
deed,  for  they  two  used  to  roam  the  hills  together 
when  they  were  but  little  children  .  .  .  sometimes 
Tessa  went  with  them,  but,  oftener,  they  were  alone; 
and,  so,  Estrella  peered  within  the  ruined  hut  and 
saw  its  occupant  as  he  lay  there  in  bitter  pain  and 
wan  and  weary,  too,  like  little  Tessa  was ;  she  saw  the 
other  girl  creep  past  the  tumble-down  old  door  that 
she  had  set  up  at  the  entrance  to  the  hut  to  shield 
its  inmate  from  the  winds,  and,  also,  to  try  to  keep 
the  fact  that  he  was  there  at  all  unknown ;  she  saw 
the  little  tender-hearted  woman  kneel  beside  the  rude 
couch  on  which  her  restless  patient  lay  and  kiss  the 
lips  that  only  moaned  her  name  in  anguish  and  de 
spair;  she  saw  her  smooth  the  black  and  silky  hair 
back  from  the  brow  of  Manuello,  and,  then,  she  heard 
the  following  conversation. 

"Tell  me,  little  Tessa,"  said  her  patient,  eagerly, 
"are  you  sure  you  were  not  seen  when  you  came  here, 
today?  I  greatly  fear  that  you  will  yet  divulge,  in 
some  way,  my  hiding-place.  I  could  not  move  a  step 
to  save  myself,  no  matter  who  came  here  to  find  me. 
It  is  terrible  to  be  like  this.  I'd  rather  die  than  stay 
here  like  this  for  another  day.  ...  I  wish  you'd  find 
a  gun,  somewhere,  and  bring  it  to  me  the  next  time 
you  come  and  let  me  end  the  lives  of  both  of  us.  You 


An  American  181 

are  like  a  little  skeleton,  yourself.  ...  I  wonder 
what's  the  matter  with  you  .  .  .  are  you  ill  or  is  it 
only  just  the  weariness  and  fright  that  makes  you 
look  so?  If  you  should  fail  me,  I  would  surely  die 
...  a  wounded  rat  that  cannot  even  run  to  save 
itself.  Tessa,  tell  me,"  he  cried  out,  peevishly,  "are 
you  sick?  You  look  so  pale  today  it  seems  to  me 
you  are  about  to  faint  away  .  .  .  and  what  would  I 
do,  then?" 

"I  don't  believe  that  I  am  sick,"  she  said,  cheer 
fully.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why  I'm  pale.  ...  It 
is  very  warm  today,  for  one  thing  ...  I  hurried  up 
the  hill  .  .  .  Estrella  came  .  .  ." 

At  that  name,  her  patient  roused  again: 

"Estrella!  Are  you  sure  she  did  not  follow  you? 
She  could  gloat  about  me,  now,  if  she  were  minded 
to  ...  what  did  you  bring  for  me  to  eat,  today?" 
he  ended,  changing  the  subject,  abruptly.  "I'm  al 
most  starved  to  death;  I  wish  you'd  come  a  little 
earlier,  tomorrow." 

"I  will  try,  dear  Manuello,  I  will  try,"  said  little 
Tessa,  gravely.  "I  always  try  to  come  as  soon  as  I 
can  come  when  I'm  alone  and  can  evade  the  children." 

Manuello  tossed  a  while  in  silence,  then  he  asked 
again : 

"Are  you  sure  Estrella  did  not  follow  you?  Look 
outside  and  see  if  there  is  not  someone  near  the  hut. 
I'm  afraid  .  .  .  I'm  dreadfully  afraid,  somehow,  to 
day.  I've  lain  right  here,  now,  all  these  weeks,  and 


182  An  American 

have  not  been  so  frightened  as  I  am,  somehow,  to 
day.  Look  outside  and  see!" 

And,  then,  Estrella  crept  away  for  she  could  do 
no  good  by  staying,  and  she  did  not  wish  to  harm 
either  one  of  her  old  friends  on  whose  distress  she 
looked. 

Estrella  went  back  to  the  mansion  on  the  hill,  a 
sadder,  it  is  true,  and  yet  also  a  wiser  woman  for 
she'd  seen  poor  little  Tessa's  secret  burden  and 
Manuello's  sorry  plight. 

She  went  to  Father  Felix,  the  next  day,  to  advise 
with  him  about  what  she  had  seen ;  he  cautioned  her 
not  to  mention  it  to  anyone  she  knew,  which  advice 
she  followed,  strictly ;  it  enlightened  him  to  some  ex 
tent  and  he  pitied  little  Tessa  more  than  ever,  for 
he  knew  the  sort  of  man  her  patient  was  ...  he 
knew  that  he  was  selfish  to  the  very  core  of  him  and 
had  no  gratitude  for  anyone  who'd  helped  him;  so 
he  pitied  little  Tessa  and  began,  in  many  little  un 
known  ways,  to  help  her  bear  the  burden  she'd  as 
sumed. 

To  begin  with,  when  she  came  to  the  confessional, 
as  almost  everyone  who  lived  in  San  Domingo  did. 
he  only  asked  her  questions  such  as  she  could  answer 
easily  ...  he  did  not  touch  on  murder  or  on  lies 
or  on  anything  that  might  lead  on  to  surprising  her 
sad  secret;  he  knew  her  for  a  simple-minded,  loving, 
tender  little  girl  and  he  pitied  her  and  did  not  try 
to  wring  from  her  her  secret,  knowing  that,  in  all 


An  American  185 

human  probability,  she  would  go,  some  day,  to  the 
ruined  hut  and  find  no  Manuello  there  to  either  curse 
or  bless  her:  in  fact,  he  looked  upon  this  as  the  most 
likely  of  anything  that  could  occur  and,  when  he 
saw  poor  little  Tessa  fading  with  anxiety  and  dread, 
he  went,  one  day,  to  see  the  patient  in  the  deserted 
hut,  and,  after  that,  there  was  no  patient  there,  for 
Manuello  limped  away,  as  he  could  stand,  at  last, 
and  hid  from  even  little  Tessa  for  he  thought  she  had 
betrayed  him,  after  all,  and,  so,  he  cursed  her  with 
the  balance  of  his  rotten  luck. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

JUNE  10,  1898,  was  a  memorable  day  for  Cuba, 
for,  on  that  date,  the  glorious  flag  of  our  own  much- 
beloved  country  was  unfurled  over  Cuban  soil,  upheld 
and  supported  by  United  States  troops,  for  the  first 
time. 

Father  Felix  had  kept  himself  well  informed  as  to 
military  matters,  and  had  often  consulted  with  Ruth 
Wakefield  concerning  what  would  actually  be  needed 
by  our  armies  when  they  were  finally  in  the  field;  in 
pursuance  of  the  purpose  to  which  they  had  both 
devoted  their  lives  and  fortunes,  these  two  had  estab 
lished  a  temporary  hospital  not  far  from  the  city  of 
Santiago,  as  the  good  Priest  had  been  informed  that 
one  of  the  next  moves  of  our  forces  would  be  in  that 
vicinity ;  so  that,  when  our  starry  banner  first  floated 
in  the  breeze  at  Camp  McCalla,  Ruth  stood  beside 
the  new-fledged  army  Chaplain,  and  watched,  through 
tear-dimmed  eyes,  the  emblem  of  our  liberty  and  free 
dom  as  it  was  proudly  raised. 

That  night  passed  quietly,  but,  for  five  successive 
days  and  nights  thereafter,  a  bitter  battle  raged  in 
which  our  blue-clad  boys  met  and  finally  defeated  the 
Spanish  hordes  that  tried  to  drive  them  back  or  leave 

184 


An  American  185 

their  lifeless  bodies  lying  there  beneath  the  blistering 
sun. 

When  Ruth  had  sailed  from  Havana  she  had 
brought  her  little  household  with  her  and  established 
them  in  temporary  quarters  near  the  hospital,  and, 
soon,  she  saw  the  little  white  cots  filled  with  sick  or 
wounded  Americans  and  Cuban  scouts. 

Volunteer  nurses  were  immediately  in  demand  as, 
in  many  ways,  our  forces  were  unprepared  to  meet 
the  enemy ;  there  are  no  soldiers  in  the  world  as  brave 
...  as  fine  ...  as  capable  ...  as  are  our  own 
United  States  Volunteers  .  .  .  both  men  and  women, 
and,  so,  Ruth  Wakefield  and  Estrella,  anxious  to 
put  into  practice  what  they  had  learned  to  do,  donned 
the  clean  white  uniforms  they  had  become  accustomed 
to  in  the  training  they  had  taken  in  Havana  for  this 
very  purpose,  and,  very  soon,  to  the  eye  of  a  novice, 
there  were  two  more  trained  nurses  ministering  to 
the  many  wants  of  the  boys  who  lay  there  on  those 
narrow  cots,  weak  and  suffering  but  triumphant  in 
spite  of  their  pain,  for  the  cause  of  right  had  won 
in  the  first  real  conflict  upon  Cuban  soil  between  the 
Spaniards  and  the  Americans  assisted  by  Cuban  in 
surgents,  who,  mainly,  acted  as  spies  and  scouts,  a 
work  to  which  they  were  adapted  by  nature  and  long 
practice  in  a  country  infested  by  those  whose  only 
object  in  ruling  it  had  been  to  gain  what  they  could, 
in  resources  and  amusement,  from  the  natives,  with 


186  An  American 

no  thought  either  for  their  comfort  or  advancement 
along  the  lines  of  civilized  living. 

Among  the  Cuban  scouts  who  had  been  wounded  on 
that  first  day  of  actual  combat  was  one  who  hap 
pened  to  fall  under  the  care  of  Estrella  for  he  had 
been  carried  in  right  after  her  entry  into  the  work 
of  the  hospital ;  this  man  had  been  slightly  wounded 
as  he  was  about  to  give  valuable  information  to  one 
of  our  own  officers,  and,  perhaps  for  that  reason 
and  because  he  had  shown  himself  to  be  particularly 
useful,  he  had  received  even  more  than  the  usual  at 
tention  on  the  battle-field,  for  his  wound  had  been 
dressed  more  carefully  than  is  customary  when  first 
aid  is  given  in  the  midst  of  the  fray,  so  that  the  at 
tending  surgeon  had  declared  his  condition  such  that 
all  he  needed  was  tender  care,  which  was  why  his 
case  had  been  assigned  to  a  volunteer  nurse. 

Estrella  gravely  assumed  the  duty  allotted  to  her, 
with  some  misgivings  as  to  her  own  ability,  it  is  true, 
but  with  a  strong  resolve  to  do  the  best  she  could; 
as  she  bent  over  her  patient,  she  noticed,  first,  his 
almost  deathly  pallor,  then  a  jagged  scar  that 
stretched  across  his  cheek  and  had  been  lately  healed 
.  .  .  the  edges  of  it  were  yet  red  and  angry  looking ; 
the  girl  bent  over  him  pityingly,  and,  then,  she 
started  back  for  she  had  recognized,  even  in  the  dim 
light  that  pervaded  the  temporary  hospital,  the  fea 
tures  of  Manuello ;  remembering  what  she  had  seen 
in  the  ruined  hut,  she  shrank  from  contact  with  her 


An  American  187 

old  admirer,  but,  with  that  memory  came  the  knowl 
edge  that  he  had  been  wounded  while  in  the  perform 
ance  of  a  service  of  benefit  to  her  beloved  country, 
and  she  did  not  falter  in  carrying  out  the  instructions 
of  the  surgeon  in  charge  with  regard  to  her  patient, 
thinking  that,  perhaps,  before  he  had  recognized  her, 
she  might  be  transferred  to  some  other  part  of  the 
hospital. 

Ruth  took  her  place  among  the  ministering  nurses 
with  confidence  and  courage,  for  she  was  one  who  im 
mediately  altogether  forgot  almost  her  own  identity 
when  asked  to  help  another  human  being,  and,  while 
her  sympathy  with  suffering  was  remarkable,  so  that 
she  actually  suffered  pain  herself  when  witnessing 
it  in  others,  yet  she  had  always  been  able  to  do  what 
ever  was  required  of  her  in  an  emergency  regardless 
of  any  bodily  ailment  that  might  be  troubling  her  at 
the  time ;  now,  as  she  saw  all  around  her  strong  men 
laid  low  by  violence,  her  spirit  rose  to  the  occasion 
and  she  was,  for  the  time,  at  least,  the  very  personifi 
cation  of  patriotic  zeal  and  her  love  for  her  country 
rose  to  heights  almost  undreamed  of  even  by  herself ; 
she  moved  among  the  little  cots  freely,  lending  a  hand 
here  and  whispering  a  word  of  encouragement  there; 
the  nurses  recognized  in  her  a  master  spirit,  at  once, 
and  the  surgeons  looked  into  her  steady  eyes,  and, 
instantly,  allowed  her  privileges  seldom  granted  to 
anyone  outside  of  their  own  profession;  her  very 
presence  seemed  to  give  the  sufferers  courage  to  bear 


188  An  American 

their  pain,  for  the  light  that  shone  from  her  clear, 
gray  eyes  was  above  the  things  of  a  merely  earthly 
existence  and  lifted  them  out  of  their  bodies,  to  some 
extent,  making  them  impervious  to  what  would  have 
otherwise  been  excruciating  anguish;  surgeons,  at 
that  time,  did  not  recognize  the  mental  attitude  of 
their  patients,  to  any  great  extent,  and  they  mar 
veled  at  the  influence  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion 
on  the  hill,  attributing  it,  in  part,  to  the  evident  su 
periority  of  the  young  woman  to  those  with  whom 
she  had  been  associated  in  Cuba. 

In  passing  among  the  little  cots,  Ruth,  at  length, 
came  to  the  one  beside  which  Estrella  was  standing, 
anxiously  looking  into  her  patient's  flushed  face,  for, 
with  returning  strength,  Manuello's  fever  had  risen; 
Ruth  put  one  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder  and  drew 
her  away  from  the  cot  for  a  moment  while  she  whis 
pered  to  her: 

"Do  not  weary  yourself  too  much,  my  Dear,  for  we 
must  keep  our  strength  so  as  to  be  able  to  help  others 
.  .  .  you  seem  distressed  ...  do  you  know  your  pa 
tient,  personally?" 

Estrella  was  only  too  glad  to  tell  her  kind  and 
understanding  friend  just  the  situation  in  which  she 
found  herself,  so  that,  when  the  young  Cuban  opened 
his  large,  dark  eyes  and  looked  about  him  in  astonish 
ment,  it  was  upon  Ruth's  face  he  gazed  instead  of 
on  Estrella's  whom  the  former  had  sent  into  another 
part  of  the  work  of  caring  for  the  wounded. 


An  American  189 

"Where  am  I?"  moaned  Manuello.  "What  has 
happened  to  me,  now?" 

"You  have  been  sorely  wounded  in  the  service  of 
your  country,  my  brave  fellow  .  .  .  you  are  now  in 
a  hospital  where  you  will  receive  every  possible  care 
and  attention,"  answered  Ruth  in  a  low,  yet  clear 
tone  of  voice.  "You  are  in  the  hands  of  those  who 
appreciate  what  you  have  done  and  greatly  desire 
to  assist  in  your  recovery." 

Having  assured  himself  that  he  was  among  friends, 
he  began  to  make  inquiries  as  to  the  nature  of  his 
wound,  wondering  how  long  it  would  be  necessary  for 
him  to  remain  as  he  was  then,  but  Ruth  only  told  him 
that  he  must  not  talk  and  must  use  every  precaution 
he  could  to  prevent  increase  of  the  fever  that  was 
now  high  enough  to  demand  the  use  of  the  handy 
little  thermometer  that  Ruth,  in  common  with  the 
other  amateur  nurses  with  whom  she  had  studied,  had 
learned  how  to  operate;  she  promptly  thrust  this 
little  fever-gauge  into  his  mouth  and  told  him  to  keep 
it  there  quietly  until  she  took  it  away ;  gazing  at  her 
as  if  she  were  a  creature  from  another  world,  Manu 
ello  lay  there  quiescent  and  tractable,  all  his  wild 
nature  being  centred  upon  his  desire  to  again  be  the 
free,  strong1  being  he  had  but  recently  been. 

Old  Mage  peered  into  the  room  where  the  cots  of 
the  wounded  soldiers  and  sailors  had  been  placed  and 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  dear  young  lady  as  she  stood 
by  the  bedside  of  Manuello;  he  had  just  opened  his 


190  An  American 

eyes,  and,  as  he  lay  there  with  his  black  curls  touch 
ing  the  white  pillow,  he  reminded  the  old  woman  very 
much  of  another  handsome,  dark  young  fellow  whom 
she  believed  to  be  lying  in  his  narrow  grave  in  the 
little  cemetery  .  .  .  the  narrow  grave  in  which  she 
had  buried  the  wedding-ring  that  had  brought  so 
much  sorrow  to  the  one  whom  she  loved  best  in  all  the 
world:  as  the  old  woman  looked  at  the  dark  face  on 
the  pillow  she  noticed  the  angry  scar  that  disfigured 
it  and  thought  that  it  might  have  changed  the  face 
she  remembered  as  without  a  blemish  so  that  she 
would  have  difficulty  in  recognizing  it ;  her  mind  be 
gan  to  travel  along  the  line  of  thought  suggested  by 
this  possibility  and  she  determined  to  rid  Ruth  of  the 
necessity  of  attending  to  her  former  husband,  at 
least,  if  her  most  dire  suspicions  should  prove  to  be 
well  founded;  she  at  once  remembered  that  she,  her 
self,  had  not  seen  the  corpse  of  the  man  interred  as 
Victorio  Colenzo  and  she  knew  very  well  how  earthly 
death  will  change  the  appearance  of  a  human  being's 
body  .  .  .  then  she  thought  of  what  had  been  told  to 
her  as  to  how  the  man  had  died  .  .  .  altogether  it 
seemed  to  her  very  possible  that  the  man  she  had 
seen  in  the  little  cemetery  on  the  day  of  the  funeral 
she  had  attended  with  Estrella  might  have  been  some 
one  closely  recembling  Manuello,  so  that,  perhaps, 
Estrella's  foster  brother  had  been  buried  in  the  sup 
posed  grave  of  Victorio  Colenzo,  who,  wishing  to  be 
free  from  both  entangling  alliances  he  had  made  in 


An  American  191 

Sari  Domingo,  had  allowed  the  name  under  which  he 
had  entered  into  them  to  be  placed  upon  the  simple 
head-stone  that  marked  the  grave  of  another  man. 

As  soon  as  old  Mage  had  arrived  at  the  conclu 
sion  above  described,  she  acted  on  it  at  once  by 
slipping  stealthily  up  to  Ruth  and  whispering  to  her : 

"Come  away,  my  Pretty;  you  are  needed;  there  is 
someone  outside  who  wishes  to  speak  to  you  at  once. 
I  will  take  your  place." 

Ruth,  thinking  the  summons  important,  yielded 
her  place  for  a  moment,  intending  to  return  within 
a  very  few  moments,  but  no  sooner  had  old  Mage 
assumed  charge  of  the  patient  than  she  began  to  de 
vise  ways  and  means  by  which  she  hoped  to  prolong 
the  stay  of  her  dear  young  lady,  for  it  seemed  to  her 
to  be  too  much  for  her  to  bear  ...  to  care  for  her 
recreant  husband  under  all  the  trying  circumstances. 

The  first  thing  that  the  new  nurse  did  would  have 
been  severely  criticized  by  the  head  surgeon  had  his 
attention  not  been  fully  occupied  in  another  part  of 
the  large  room;  to  begin  with,  instead  of  smoothing 
back  the  dark  hair  from  the  man's  forehead  as  it 
would  seem  to  one  observing  her  from  the  rear  she 
was  doing,  she  very  deliberately  pulled  the  handful 
of  curls  she  was  clutching,  hoping  to  make  him  open 
his  eyes  so  that  she  could  continue  her  scrutiny  of 
him  in  order  to  be  as  certain  as  possible  of  his  sus 
pected  identity;  this  ruse  succeeded,  for  Manuello's 
large,  dark  brown  eyes  flew  open  and  were  fixed  in 


192  An  American 

horror  on  the  face  bending  over  him ;  it  was  quite  a 
different  countenance  than  the  one  he  had  last  seen 
beside  him,  for  old  Mage  never  had  been  a  beauty 
and  the  loss  of  her  teeth  had  not  added  to  her  appear 
ance  while  the  ferocity  of  her  glance  was  accentuated 
by  the  multitude  of  criss-cross  wrinkles  which  sur 
rounded  the  light  blue  eyes  out  of  which  she  was 
glaring  at  him ;  the  words  she  hissed  in  his  ear  added 
to  the  confusion  under  which  the  helpless  man  was 
laboring : 

UI  thought  that  you  were  dead  and  buried  out  of 
sight  .  .  .  you  hateful,  low-lived  pup !  How  dare 
you  be  brought  into  her  place,  now?  If  I  did  just 
right,  I  do  believe  I'd  choke  the  life  out  of  you  while 
you  can't  fight  back !  The  girl's  here,  too  .  .  .  you 
must  be  a  devil  in  human  form!  You  ought  to  be 
burning  in  hell !" 

The  object  that  had  led  old  Mage  to  make  this 
attack  upon  the  wounded  man  was  about  to  be  ac 
complished,  for,  with  a  wild  scream,  he  vaulted  over 
the  foot  of  the  little  cot  and  bounded  through  the 
open  doorway  as  if  he  were  pursued  by  demons ; 
his  temporary  nurse  did  not  try  to  prevent  his  exit 
which  was  what  she  had  longed  to  bring  about,  al 
though  the  manner  of  his  going  startled  even  her,  as 
she  had  no  idea  of  the  effect  that  her  hasty  words 
would  have  upon  the  guilty  spirit  of  the  man  whose 
crimes,  it  seemed  to  him,  had  found  him  out ;  the  new 
wound  he  had  that  day  received,  was  not  of  a  nature 


An  American  193 

to  impede  his  progress  for  a  short  distance,  and  he 
almost  instantly  disappeared  from  among  the  nurses 
and  surgeons ;  his  wild  expression  so  impressed  all 
whom  he  met  before  he  reached  the  outskirts  of  the 
hospital  grounds  that  he  was  again  a  fugitive, 
hunted,  this  time,  by  both  friends  and  enemies. 

As  Ruth  was  about  to  return  to  her  patient,  for 
she  could  find  no  immediate  need  of  her  presence  else 
where,  she  met  an  excited  nurse  who  told  her  of  hav 
ing  seen  an  excessively  active  young  man  flying  out 
into  the  open,  clad  only  in  hospital  garb. 

Ruth  was  hurrying  to  report  the  circumstances 
to  the  head  surgeon  and  to  arrange  to  have  search 
ing  parties  sent  out  to  bring  back  her  pseudo  pa 
tient,  when,  passing  the  cot  where  old  Mage  was  still 
stationed,  she  noted  that  it  was  empty ;  stopping  to 
inquire  the  reason  for  this  change,  her  old  nurse 
hurriedly  related  the  facts  concerning  the  exodus  of 
the  young  man,  while  she  secretly  rejoiced  at  the  suc 
cess  of  her  strategem,  for  so  she  chose  to  denominate 
the  method  she  had  taken  of  protecting  her  dear 
young  lady  from  the  nearness  of  the  man  she  had 
married  through  mistaken  confidence. 

Estrella,  having  been  sent  to  consult  with  her 
friend  concerning  some  matter  connected  with  the 
welfare  of  the  temporary  hospital,  came  along,  just 
then,  and  was  told  what  had  happened. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "where  has  poor  Manuello 
gone?  He  is  not  fit  to  be  outside  alone.  I  am  afraid 


194  An  American 

I  was  a  coward  to  leave  him  when  he  needed  care. 
Poor  little  Tessa  would  have  stayed  right  with  him 
no  matter  what  he  said  or  did.  I  have  not  seen  her," 
she  mused,  "for  a  long  time,  now  .  .  .  not  since  a 
number  of  days  before  we  came  away  from  home. 
...  I  wonder  where  she  is." 

Could  Estrella  have  seen  her  little  friend  at  that 
moment,  she  would  have  lost  all  pity  for  Manuello 
and  added  to  that  she  already  had  for  poor  Tessa, 
for  she  was  then  suffering  from  the  last  encounter 
she  had  had  with  the  man  who  had  just  fled  out  into 
the  night;  although  the  little  peasant  would  have 
been  proud  to  have  been  made  the  wife  of  the  man 
whom  she  madly  loved,  yet  she  resisted  the  idea  of 
being  merely  his  mistress  for  Father  Felix  had  forci 
bly  impressed  upon  the  minds  of  the  girls  of  his  flock 
the  virtue  of  chastity;  the  consequence  of  this  re 
sistance  had  been  a  blow  received  by  herself  which 
had  rendered  her  helpless  for  the  time  being,  as  it 
had  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  walk  for  any  dis 
tance,  and  a  slash  across  one  of  Manuello's  dusky 
cheeks  which  she  had  made  with  a  knife  she  had  hap 
pened  to  have  in  her  hand  at  the  time  of  his  attack. 

The  heart-sick  girl  was  lying  on  the  rude  bed  she 
had  made  for  the  man  who  had  left  her  without  aid, 
in  the  deserted  hut  into  which  Estrella  had  once 
peered,  while  her  friend,  so  far  away  from  her,  was 
bemoaning  the  fate  of  her  ungrateful  former  lover. 

She  had  carried  some  food  and  water  into  the  hovel 


An  American  195 

upon  the  day  of  her  last  struggle  with  Manuello  and 
she  could  creep  about  the  inside  of  the  small  build 
ing,  so  that,  being  hardy  and  healthy,  she  had,  at 
that  time,  subsisted  upon  the  supplies  she  had  on 
hand,  for  several  days;  she  was  just  beginning  to 
crawl  carefully  out  into  the  surrounding  brush  where 
she  was  glad  to  find  plenty  of  ripe  cactus-friiit  and 
other  wild  edibles ;  she  was  very  lonely  and  frightened 
but  she  took  her  condition  as  a  punishment  for  the 
sins  she  had  committed  since  she  had  tried  to  assist 
Manuello  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  known 
him  to  be  a  criminal;  she  told  her  beads,  over  and 
over,  using  the  small  rosary  which  she  had  always 
worn  about  her  neck,  and,  as  she  kissed  the  crucifix 
attached  to  the  beads,  she  often  prayed  for  the  man 
who  was  the  direct  cause  of  her  pitiable  condition, 
for  she  believed  it  to  be  her  plain  duty  to  forgive, 
even  though  she  could  not  forget,  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHEN  Manuello  escaped  from  the  temporary  hos 
pital  near  Camp  McCalla,  he  directed  his  eager  steps 
toward  the  place  of  his  nativity,  because,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  he  would  be  safer  there  than  he  had  recently 
been ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  if  he  could  reach  the  de 
serted  hut  where  he  had  been  in  concealment  before, 
he  could  rest  and  recover  while  he  made  plans  for 
his  future,  for  he  had  decided  that  it  would  be  danger 
ous  for  him  to  follow  the  American  army  any  longer, 
at  least  for  a  time. 

In  devious  ways  and  through  the  use  of  means 
known  only  to  such  as  he,  he  managed  to  reach  a 
point  midway  between  Santiago  and  Havana  in  a 
much  shorter  time  than  would  have  seemed  possible 
to  one  unversed  in  the  ways  of  the  wilderness ;  here 
he  encountered,  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  the  good 
Priest  whom  he  had  known  from  childhood,  who,  also, 
seemed  hurrying  in  the  direction  of  Havana. 

The  young  man  kept  away  from  the  habitation  of 
men  as  much  as  possible  after  that,  and,  footsore  and 
weary,  but  happy  in  the  thought  that  he  had  reached 
his  goal,  he  arrived,  at  length,  just  at  sunset,  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  village  of  San  Domingo ;  from  there 

196 


An  American  197 

he  followed  the  winding  path  up  which  little  Tessa 
had  so  often  toiled  in  his  service;  he  thought  of  her 
but  did  not  regret  the  blow  he  had  given  her ;  in  fact, 
his  anger  still  burned  at  white  heat  whenever  he  re 
membered  how  she  had  disfigured  his  features,  for 
getting  altogether  what  she  had  done  for  him,  be 
cause  she  had  not  done  everything  that  he  had  asked 
her  to  do. 

At  length,  he  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  deserted 
hut  and  stole  up  to  reconnoitre  before  entering  the 
ruined  habitation ;  he  crept  up  to  one  of  the  small 
windows  and  peered  within ;  the  sight  that  met  his 
vision  startled  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  forgot, 
for  the  moment,  his  habitual  caution  and  remained 
at  the  window  although  he  had  discovered  that  the 
hut  was  occupied ;  the  room  he  looked  into  was  dimly 
lit  by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  which  penetrated 
the  dense  growth  of  tropical  verdure  and  found  their 
way  into  the  small  western  aperture  that  answered 
the  purpose  of  a  look-out  toward  the  village;  Tessa 
was  lying,  looking  very  wan  and  care-worn,  upon  the 
rude  bed  she  had  arranged  for  the  man  who  was  then 
staring  at  her  ...  in  her  thin  hand  was  a  crucifix 
which  Father  Felix  had  just  given  to  her  .  .  .  the 
good  Priest  was  kneeling  upon  the  rough  floor  beside 
the  couch  and  the  tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks, 
for  the  sight  before  him  would  have  moved  far  less 
tender  hearts  than  his ;  the  girl  began  to  speak  in  a 
low  voice  and  Manuello  strained  his  power  of  hear- 


198  An  American 

ing  to  catch  the  faint  words  which  fell  from  her  pale 
and  trembling  lips. 

"Good  Father,'*  she  began,  speaking  as  if  at  con 
fession,  "I  beseech  you  to  have  mercy  upon  your  sin 
ful  daughter ;  I  have  done  grievous  wrong  during  my 
short  life  and  I  beg  you  to  intercede  with  the  God  of 
truth  and  justice  before  whose  judgment  seat  I  will 
soon  appear.  I  ask  you  to  pray  for  me,  Father 
Felix,  for  I  am  in  need  of  your  prayers.  I  have  been 
a  wicked  girl  in  some  ways,  though  not  in  all,  for  I 
have  resisted  a  very  strong  desire  which  was  a  part 
of  my  sinful  nature  and  which  I  believe  I  have,  now, 
through  suffering,  gained  the  victory  over." 

The  girl  ceased  speaking  from  sheer  weakness, 
then,  and  the  Priest  took  the  crucifix  from  her  shak 
ing  hand  and  attached  it  to  the  cord  at  his  waist, 
then  he  lifted  his  clasped  hands  in  earnest  and 
humble  supplication: 

"Father  Who  art  in  heaven,"  he  prayed,  "listen  to 
us  who  are  in  Thy  gracious  Hands,  both  here  and 
hereafter.  Help  me  to  guide  this  suffering  soul 
aright  and  help  her  to  walk  where  she  was  meant  to 
walk,  whether  she  regains  her  health  and  returns  to 
the  life  she  has  had,  formerly,  or  whether  she  passes 
out  of  this  narrow  existence  and  goes  into  eternity 
before  another  morning  dawns.  Look  down,  dear 
Father,  in  mercy  on  us  who  are  Thy  humble  servants. 
Amen." 

"Father  Felix,"  began  the  sick  girl,  "I  must  con- 


An  American  199 

fess  to  you  something  that  has  lain  heavily  upon  my 
conscience  for  many  weeks.  I  am  rejoiced  that  you 
have  found  me  for  I  will  die  easier  to  know  that  you 
have  the  secrets  that  I  have  been  keeping  in  my  heart, 
being  unable  to  come  to  the  refectory  and  tell  you 
what  I  must,  now,  impart  to  you.  A  heinous  crime 
was  committed  in  San  Domingo  some  months  ago,  as 
I  believe  by  one  whom  you  and  I  both  know;  I  have 
withheld  my  suspicions  from  the  authorities  and,  in 
so  doing,  I  feel  that  I  have  done  wrong,  Father.  I 
wish  to  tell  you  all  I  know,  now,  and  let  you  do  what 
you  think  best  ...  it  will  relieve  my  heart  of  a 
very  heavy  load  to  tell  this  to  you.  Manuello  .  .  ." 

Before  her  lips  could  utter  the  next  word,  the  door 
of  the  hut  which  had  been  leaning  over  the  opening 
designed  for  it  as  it  had  long  been  guiltless  of  hinges, 
was  violently  thrust  aside  and  the  subject  of  the  re 
marks  Tessa  was  about  to  make,  rudely  entered  and 
advanced  to  the  side  of  the  couch  upon  which  the  girl 
was  lying ;  the  livid  scar  upon  his  dark  face  combined 
with  the  pallor  that  had  followed  the  fever  he  had 
been  having,  the  freshly  bandaged  wound,  the  limp 
that  had  followed  the  rough  dressing  of  the  bullet- 
punctured  leg  of  the  man,  combined  with  the  fierce 
determination  that  characterized  each  one  of  his 
movements,  altogether  made  a  most  unpleasant  ap 
pearance. 

Father  Felix  quietly  rose  and  stepped  between  the 
sufferer  on  the  couch  and  the  young  Cuban  who  re- 


200  An  American 

garded  the  Priest  with  no  respect  in  the  expression  of 
his  countenance,  but  rather  with  contempt  and  lack 
of  personal  fear;  he  attempted  to  shove  him  aside 
so  that  he  might  again  look  down  on  the  trembling 
occupant  of  the  rude  bed,  but  found  that  Father 
Felix  was  standing  firmly  on  a  sturdy  pair  of  legs 
which  had  had  good  exercise  in  tramping  about  the 
hills  and  valleys  in  pursuit  of  his  chosen  profession 
of  saving  the  souls  of  those  who  needed  his  ministra 
tions  ;  Manuello  glared  at  him  and  snarled  out : 

"Out  of  my  way  with  your  sing-song  prayers  and 
your  dangling  cross !  I  am  a  desperate  man  and  do 
not  mean  to  allow  even  a  Priest  to  balk  either  my 
escape  or  my  vengeance !  Stand  aside  and  let  me 
stop  that  mouth  forever!" 

He  again  tried  to  shove  the  Priest  aside,  when 
Father  Felix  hastily  threw  off  his  robe  so  that  it 
might  not  impede  his  movements  and  closed  with  the 
young  fellow,  grappling  with  him  with  arms  left  bare 
from  the  shoulder  upon  which  the  biceps  muscles 
stood  out  in  great  knots  that  came  and  went  and 
rippled  underneath  the  skin ;  Manuello  was  surprised 
at  this  onslaught  for  the  good  Priest's  fighting  prow 
ess  had  never,  so  far,  been  tested  in  just  this  way; 
but  familiarity  with  certain  turns  and  twists  told 
in  the  young  villain's  favor  in  spite  of  the  freshness 
and  vigor  of  Father  Felix'  attack ;  the  poor  girl  on 
the  floor  was  unable  to  interfere  and  watched  the  two 
combatants  with  horrified  e}res  as  they  struggled  all 


An  American  201 

over  the  rude  room,  sometimes  one  and  sometimes 
the  other  seeming  about  to  conquer;  neither  one  of 
the  contestants  had  a  weapon  as  Manuello  had  come 
away  from  the  hospital  clad  only  as  the  other  pa 
tients  were;  in  his  wild  flight  he  had  snatched  an 
outer  garment  from  among  the  many  lying  in  a  heap 
outside  the  door  through  which  he  had  fled,  but,  with 
this  exception,  he  wore  only  what  had  been  put  upon 
him  by  the  surgeons. 

Like  two  Titans,  the  two  human  beings  struggled 
for  supremacy,  the  one  being  actuated  only  by  a 
desire  to  serve  the  right,  and  the  other  seeming  to 
have  been  given  almost  satanic  power  as  he  felt  that 
his  own  life  and  future  freedom  depended  upon  add 
ing  two  more  to  his  victims,  for  the  Priest  had  al 
ready  heard  enough  to  make  him  find  out  more  and 
Tessa  had  been  about  to  confess  all  she  knew  to  him, 
so,  above  everything  on  earth,  the  furious  Cuban 
wished  to  slay  the  Priest  and  the  poor  girl  whose  only 
fault  had  been  her  yielding  to  his  selfishness. 

Twice,  Manuello's  fingers  almost  closed  about  the 
good  Priest's  throat,  and  twice  did  Father  Felix  lift 
the  other  man  bodily  from  the  floor  and  dash  him 
down  in  a  huddled  heap  in  one  corner  of  the  room, 
but  neither  had  quite  conquered  when  an  unexpected 
interference  ended  the  conflict  very  suddenly. 

Manuello  had  crowded  Father  Felix  over  toward 
the  tumble-down  door  of  the  hut  and  was  about  to 
push  him  through  the  opening,  or,  at  least,  attempt 


202  An  American 

to  do  so,  when,  all  at  once  the  young  fellow  felt  his 
fingers  lose  their  strength  and  his  arms  fell  away 
from  the  body  of  the  Priest  ...  he  was  conscious 
of  a  strange,  tingling  sensation  all  through  his  shaken 
nerves ;  had  he  been  f amilar  with  the  action  of  power 
ful  electric  currents,  he  would  have  described  it  as  a 
heavy  shock  of  electricity  but,  although  he  could  not 
have  altogether  explained  his  sensations,  their  effect 
was  instantaneous  and  resulted  in  the  release  of 
Father  Felix  while  his  assailant  dropped  prone  upon 
the  floor  of  the  hut  and  groveled  at  his  feet  in  abject 
terror,  for  he  thought  the  end  of  his  life  had  come 
and,  in  that  thought,  the  murderer  became  the  peni 
tent  and,  with  the  fear  of  death  before  his  mind,  he 
began  to  mumble  broken  bits  of  half-forgotten 
prayers  and  to  beg  for  forgiveness  for  his  sins  which 
he  knew  to  be  many  and  grievous. 

As  the  changed  attitude  of  his  foe  became  evi 
dent  to  the  good  Priest  he  hurried  over  to  the  side 
of  the  sick  girl  with  assurances  of  his  desire  to  assist 
her  in  every  possible  way  and,  with  the  changed  con 
ditions  surrounding  him,  he  again  put  on  the  robe  of 
his  holy  office,  and,  with  it,  seemed  again  to  be  the 
sedate  and  quiet  leader  of  the  flock  he  strove  to  lead 
into  green  pastures  and  beside  pleasant  waters. 

Having  ministered  to  Tessa,  for  the  moment,  he 
turned  his  attention  to  his  late  antagonist: 

"My  Son,"  he  said,  "you  are  wounded  and  spent 
with  the  loss  of  blood ;  your  mind,  perhaps,  has  been 


An  American  203 

turned  by  your  misfortunes  so  that  you  did  not 
realize  either  your  words  or  your  actions.  I  hope 
that,  from  this  time  on,  you  will  fix  your  mind  on 
better  things  than  thoughts  of  vengeance  or  of  mur 
der.  To  begin  with,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you. 
Will  you  help  me  remove  Tessa,  here,  from  this  place 
to  her  home?  She  is  in  need  of  tender  care." 

"I  will  do  what  you  tell  me  to,"  meekly  answered 
the  recent  antagonist  of  the  Priest.  "I  see  that  I 
was  wrong  in  imagining  you  to  be  my  enemy.  I  think 
that  this  last  wound  has  made  me  crazy  for  the  time, 
as  you  have  just  said.  From  this  time  on  I  will  try 
to  be  as  I  have  been  before  .  .  .  glad  to  be  guided 
by  your  higher  wisdom.  I  humbly  ask  your  pardon 
for  what  I  have  done  here,  tonight." 

Manuello  bowed  his  head  for  his  spirit  had  been 
broken  by  the  strange  happening  which  we  have  de 
scribed,  and,  at  once,  his  hope  began  to  rise  again, 
that,  after  all,  Father  Felix  would  do  him  no  real 
harm,  for  he  seemed,  again,  the  kind  and  loving  pre 
late  whom  the  man  had  known  from  his  youth  up. 

When  some  simple  preparations  had  been  made, 
the  two  men  lifted  Tessa  from  the  rude  couch  to  the 
stretcher  they  had  improvised,  and,  in  turn,  lifted 
it,  with  its  light  burden,  to  their  shoulders,  when, 
from  time  to  time,  they  found  an  open  space  in  the 
dense  underbrush  that  hid  the  ruined  hut  from  ordi 
nary  observation ;  thus  they  descended  the  hill  that 
led  to  the  village  of  San  Domingo;  having  reached 


204  An  American 

the  door  of  the  home  of  the  girl,  in  the  gathering 
darkness,  they  laid  the  stretcher  down  and  Manuello 
disappeared  as  Father  Felix  knocked  for  admittance. 

To  say  the  young  fellow  was  glad  to  be  released 
from  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  custody  of  the 
Priest  would  be  to  put  his  feelings  lightly,  for,  hav 
ing  cleared  the  ruined  hut,  he  quickly  returned  to 
it  and,  lying  on  the  simple  bed  Tessa  had  so  lately 
occupied,  he  went  to  sleep,  apparently,  as  sweetly 
as  a  new-born  infant  would. 

Old  Mage  wondered,  a  little,  at  Estrella's  remark 
concerning  Manuello,  after  he  had  disappeared ;  but 
she  finally  set  her  mind  at  rest  by  deciding  that, 
whichever  of  the  dashing  Cubans  she  had  ousted  from 
Ruth's  help,  she  had  done  good  work,  for,  as  she 
said  to  herself,  from  her  view-point  it  was  "good 
riddance  to  bad  rubbage." 

The  head  surgeon  made  a  note  of  the  occurrence 
and  went  on  about  his  work,  for  one  man  more  or  less, 
in  time  of  war,  cannot  be  reckoned  as  in  civil  life. 

Ruth  Wakefield  had  no  doubt  at  all  as  to  the 
identity  of  her  former  patient ;  when  a  pure  girl  has 
given  herself  to  be  the  wife  of  any  man  she  does  not, 
soon,  forget  his  personality,  and  Ruth  knew  very 
well  the  man  she'd  cared  for  had  not  been  the  one 
she'd  called  her  husband  .  .  .  that  his  body  lay 
within  its  narrow  grave  she  felt  assured  but  what 
lay  buried  over  him  old  Mage,  alone,  yet  knew;  she'd 
chuckled,  many  times,  as  to  that  burial,  and  it  was 


An  American  205 

hard  for  her  to  keep  her  secret  as  she  longed  for  the 
approval  that  she  felt  she  merited  in  this  small  mat 
ter,  but  the  thought  that  Ruth  might  differ  with  her 
as  to  what  she'd  done  had  always,  so  far,  sealed  her 
lips. 

"There  is  a  time  in  the  affairs  of  men  that,  taken 
at  its  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune,"  has  been  said  by 
one  who,  justly,  has  been  called  a  master  in  the  art 
of  putting  words  together;  William  Shakespeare  did 
not  know  the  actors  in  this  story,  but  he  knew  the 
minds  of  men  as  few  have  known  them  since  his  time. 

Manuello  did  not  know  that  such  a  writer  as  this 
master  of  the  English  language  had  ever  existed, 
yet  he  acted  on  the  thought  in  the  above  quotation, 
when,  the  morning  after  the  events  related  in  this 
chaper,  he  again  departed  from  the  ruined  hut  and 
disappeared,  effectually,  within  the  fastnesses  that 
only  such  as  he  could  know  about;  every  inch,  or  so 
it  seemed,  of  territory  surrounding  Havana  was  fa 
miliar  to  the  Cuban  scouts  and  Manuello  had  grown 
up  among  the  cacti  and  the  palms  and  desolation 
that  followed  in  the  wake  of  Spanish  oppression  and 
injustice. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

JULY  1,  1898,  at  sunset,  the  fair  folds  of  our 
own  stars  and  stripes  were  gently  floating  over  San 
Juan  hill. 

On  that  day  some  of  the  most  heroic  deeds  in 
American  history  had  been  performed  by  those  who 
represent  the  highest  types  of  American  virility. 

Roosevelt's  Rough  Riders  had,  that  day,  advanced 
behind  their  intrepid  leader,  into  the  very  jaws  of 
death  and  very  many  of  them  nsver  came  again  into 
the  pleasant  walks  of  life  they'd  known  before  that 
fateful  day  .  .  .  very  many  of  them  lay  scattered 
over  the  different  heights  that  led  on  to  the  very  top 
of  San  Juan  hill,  inert  and  helpless  human  tenements 
that  had  once  held  the  proud  and  willing  spirits  of 
the  men  who  followed  Roosevelt  with  love  and  dar 
ing. 

Some  of  them  were  picked  up  and  carried  to 
temporary  hospitals  that  had  sprung  up  near  the 
scene  of  active  warfare ;  in  one  of  these  shelters  for 
the  wounded  Ruth  Wakefield  stood,  that  evening, 
bending  low  above  a  little  cot  on  which  was  stretched 
a  manly  form  .  .  .  the  form  of  one  who'd  ridden  with 
the  rest  of  those  who  followed  him  they  called,  in 

206 


An  American  207 

brotherly  affection,  "Teddy,"  and  who  was  beside  him 
when  his  horse  was  shot  from  under  him. 

"Nurse,"  he  whispered,  through  the  bandages  that 
bound  his  head,  "Nurse,  it  would  have  done  you  good 
to  hear  him  say  'Forward!  Charge  the  hill!'  It 
would  have  heartened  you  could  you  have  seen  him, 
when  he  was  unhorsed,  grab  a  rifle  and  fire  it  as  he 
went  on  up,  on  foot." 

"You  must  not  talk,"  said  Ruth.  "You  must  rest 
quietly,  now.  We  won  the  hill,"  she  added,  proudly. 
"We  won  the  hill  and  I'm  as  proud  as  anyone  could 
ever  be  of  Roosevelt  and  of  you  all  who  followed 
after  him.  I  sometimes  wish,"  she  ended,  "I  some 
times  wish  that  I  had  been  a  man  to  go  into  the 
battles  instead  of  only  caring  for  the  wounded  .  .  . 
yet  I'm  thankful  to  be  of  some  assistance  to  the  ones 
who  need  the  help  that  I  can  give  to  them." 

"You  should  have  seen,"  began  the  man  again, 
"you  should  have  seen  our  Teddy  charge  that  hill ! 
They  do  not  make  a  man  like  that  except  about  once 
in  a  century  or  so  ...  they  do  not  make  such  men 
as  that  in  every  age.  ...  I  tell  you  he's  a  holy  ter 
ror  when  it  comes  to  fighting,  Nurse !  He  mowed  them 
down  ...  he  made  them  crawl  and  creep.  ...  I  al 
ways  knew  he  could  do  more  on  horseback  than  any 
man  that  ever  lived  but  I  never  knew,  until  today, 
what  he  could  do  on  foot." 

"Our  Teddy  is  a  wonder.  ...  I  agree  with  you  in 
everything  you  say  of  him,  but,  now,"  once  more 


208  An  American 

she  was  the  nurse  in  charge,  "you  must  be  very  still 
.  .  .  that  is,"  she  ended,  with  a  happy  little  turn  of 
thought,  "if  you  ever  want  to  go  where  Teddy  is, 
again." 

That  was  enough  to  silence  him  and  he  lay  very 
still  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  and,  finally, 
he  slept,  and  rested  from  his  labors  for  a  time;  but 
what  he'd  said  stayed  in  Ruth's  inner  consciousness 
and  the  heart  that  throbbed  within  her  beat  more 
proudly  after  that,  because  she  was,  as  was  the  man 
his  comrades  praised,  an  American ;  to  her  that  title 
was  enough  to  fill  with  pride  a  human  heart  .  .  . 
to  be  a  true  American  ...  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States  of  America  ...  it  seemed  to  her  meant  more 
than  any  royal  appellation  ever  could;  no  crown 
adorned  with  priceless  jewles  could  replace  that  name 
to  her ;  at  one  time  in  her  life,  this  question  had  been 
asked  of  her: 

"What  would  you  do  if  you  must  choose  between 
all  that  you  love  on  earth  and  fealty  to  some  other 
than  your  native  land,  and  this  one  country  that  you 
call  your  own?" 

"What  would  I  do?"  she  answered.  "I  would  not 
renounce  my  fealty  to  my  native  land.  ...  I  would 
keep  God  and  my  conscience  and  my  country  .  .  . 
no  one  could  take  them  from  me  ...  all  the  rest 
I'd  leave  behind  and  cleave  to  them." 

Ruth  Wakefield  meant  this  statement  and  she 
proved  it  later  on  beyond  all  shadow  of  a  doubt. 


An  American  £09 

When  her  first  patient  slept,  Ruth  went  to  stand 
beside  another  cot  for  she  was  always  privileged  to 
go  wherever  she  might  choose;  her  help  in  many 
ways,  including  financial  aid,  had  made  this  hos 
pital  possible  and  she  went  at  will  among  the  other 
nurses  who  looked  up  to  her  as  women  will  to  one 
who  is  a  natural  leader  of  the  ones  with  whom  she 
associates. 

She  came,  at  length,  to  a  cot  that  was  apart 
from  all  the  rest  because  its  occupant  had  needed 
to  be  isolated  for  good  reasons ;  he  was  violent,  at 
times,  the  nurses  said  .  .  .  when  his  fever  rose  he 
soon  became  delirious  and  they  had  hard  work  keep 
ing  him  under  any  sort  of  control;  he  was  a  native 
scout,  they  told  her  ...  he  had  done  good  work 
that  day  upon  the  side  of  right,  and,  so,  Ruth  went 
to  care  for  him,  for  it  was  just  as  natural  for  her 
to  take  heavy  work  as  it  was  natural  for  the  rest  to 
let  her  do  it. 

Soon  after  she  had  taken  charge  of  him,  he  stirred 
uneasily  and  mumbled  in  his  restless  sleep  ...  he 
spoke  a  name  she'd  hoped  to  never  hear  again  .  .  . 
the  name  of  him  whom  she  had  loved  enough  to 
marry.  .  .  . 

"Victorio  Colenzo,"  moaned  the  man,  "Victorio 
Colenzo  is  dead  and  I  ...  I  am  his  murderer  .  .  . 
it  was  my  hand  that  took  his  life.  ...  I  am  a  mur 
derer,  good  Father  Felix.  ...  I  am  the  murderer 
of  the  man  I  hated,  for  he  took  the  girl  I  loved  from 


210  An  American 

me.  ...  I  killed  him  with  my  own  machete  and 
he  is  dead.  ...  I  am  the  murderer  of  Victorio 
Colenzo  .  .  .  shrive  my  soul,  good  Father  Felix,  for 
I  am  about  to  go  before  my  Maker." 

The  moaning  ceased  then,  and  Ruth  bent  over  him 
to  see  if  he  still  lived,  for  she  could  see  his  very  lips 
were  livid  and  his  eyes  seemed  set  and  glazed  as  if 
with  death's  own  dews ;  she  put  her  hand  upon  his 
head  and  looked  into  his  face  with  earnest  pity  in 
her  tender  eyes,  for  she  was  very  pitiful  and  even 
lenient  when  faults  of  anyone  except  herself  were 
to  be  considered. 

"The  poor  fellow  is  delirious,"  she  thought.  "He 
does  not  know  what  he  is  saying.  Odd  that  he  should 
use  that  name.  Poor  fellow  ...  he  will  not  last 
long,  I  fear.  I  wonder  if  Father  Felix  could  come 
to  him." 

With  that  thought,  she  turned  to  go  to  try  to  find 
the  Priest,  for  he  almost  always  could  be  found  where 
there  was  suffering  and  need  of  him,  but  Manuello 
(for  the  reader  has  discovered  who  her  patient 
was)  snatched  at  her  hand  as  she  was  just  about 
to  go  away  and  said  to  her: 

"Please  intercede  for  me,  good  Angel  .  .  .  tell 
them  I  have  never  had  a  chance  in  all  my  life  .  .  . 
tell  them  .  .  .  intercede  .  .  ."  and,  then,  his  weak 
voice  died  away  in  moans,  again,  "Tessa,  please," 
he  said,  "don't  look  at  me  that  way !" 

Again  Ruth  leaned  above  his  bed,  for  in  his  eyes 


An  American  211 

there  was  a  look  that  seldom  comes  except  when 
death  is  near.  She  felt  a  gentle  hand  upon  her  arm 
and  knew  that  Estrella  stood  beside  her  .  .  .  she 
had  come  to  seek  advice  from  her  superior. 

So  they  stood  .  .  .  the  widow  and  the  sweetheart, 
and  the  murderer  of  the  man  they  both  had  loved, 
as  virgins  love,  lay  there  before  them. 

Suddenly,  he  roused  himself,  as  with  a  last  and 
desperate  effort,  from  the  lethargy  of  death  itself 
...  he  looked  upon  them  standing  there  beside  his 
bed  .  .  .  the  woman  he  had  loved  as  wild  and  rough 
and  lawless  men  will  always  love  a  woman  and  the 
one  who  seemed  to  him  as  if  she  were  an  angel  straight 
from  paradise  ...  he  imagined  he  had  passed  from 
life  as  he  had  known  that  word,  and  was  beyond  all 
earthly  help ;  and,  so,  he  did  not  call  for  human  help 
but  cried  aloud  on  God  to  save  his  deathless  soul.  It 
was  horrible  to  hear  his  human  lips  cry  out  to  God 
as  they  were  crying  then,  and  Ruth  regretted  that 
Estrella  stood  so  near  to  him  whom  she  had  called 
her  foster-brother,  for  she'd  whispered  Manuello's 
name  at  once,  so  she  sent  her  to  find  Father  Felix 
if  she  could  and  to  bring  him  there  to  help  this  suffer 
ing  soul. 

After  the  girl  had  gone  away,  Ruth  stood  alone 
beside  the  cot  and  looked  with  great  commiseration 
on  the  almost  senseless  clay  before  her  ...  on  the 
staring  eyes  and  sullen,  dark-skinned  pallor  of  the 
heavily  scarred  face  ...  on  the  lips  that  once  wore 


An  American 

careless  smiles  but,  now,  were  drawn  and  pale  .  .  . 
on  the  broad  shoulders  and  powerful  muscled  arms. 
As  she  gazed  at  him  it  seemed  to  her  a  very  pitiful 
condition  under  which  he  labored ;  she  wondered  why 
it  had  to  be  as  it  was  with  this  strong,  untutored 
man;  she  wondered  why  he  had  to  lay  his  strong, 
young  body  on  the  altar  of  his  passions  and  see  it 
consumed  as  it  had  been  by  hate  and  treachery ;  and, 
then,  she  remembered  the  service  upon  which  he  had 
just  been  bent  .  .  .  and  her  heart  yearned  over  him 
for  that  alone ;  she  leaned  above  his  face  and  searched 
it  for  a  sign  of  returning  strength  but  found  none 
there;  his  eyes  stared  into  hers,  it  seemed,  and  then 
they  sought  the  moving  shadows  on  the  canvas  over 
head. 

Ruth  raised  her  head  from  gazing  into  Manuello's 
eyes  and  seemed  to  see,  above  the  cot  on  which  he 
lay,  another  and  a  different  form  yet  like  to  that 
she  saw  inert  before  her;  it  was  as  if  a  glorified 
replica  of  the  man  were  floating  over  him;  in  many 
ways  it  was  exactly  like  the  Manuello  lying  there 
upon  that  little  cot,  and,  yet,  the  form  was  more 
ethereal  .  .  .  more  delicate  .  .  .  more  beautiful 
than  he  could  ever  be  and  live  upon  the  earthly  plane 
where  he  had  found  so  many  things  to  lead  him  down 
and  seldom  found  a  single  thing  to  lead  him  higher, 
or,  at  least,  found  anything  that  he  could  fully  un 
derstand,  for,  although  Father  Felix  tried  to  show 
him  how  to  go  to  climb  to  better  thoughts,  he  had 


An  American 

not  seen  the  steps  at  all  but  blundered  on  along  the 
path  he  found  himself  upon. 

As  Ruth  began  to  realize  the  change  that  she  had 
seen  take  place,  a  rosy  flush  crept  over  her  fair  face, 
she  clasped  her  hands  and  bowed  her  head  in  silent 
prayer: 

"Father  in  heaven,"  she  thought,  "look  down  in 
mercy  on  this  soul  about  to  come  before  You  for 
Your  judgment.  Have  pity  on  his  faults  for  they 
were  very  many  .  .  .  have  mercy  on  him,  for  his  sins 
were  very  heavy  in  his  human  life.  He  did  not  know 
the  way  to  go,  dear  Father  ...  he  could  not  see 
the  steps  at  all.  Have  pity  on  him  for  he  will  have 
need  of  pity  such  as  only  You  can  give  to  him. 
Amen." 

And  when  she  lifted  up  her  face  again,  good  Father 
Felix  stood  beside  her,  crucifix  in  hand.  His  head 
was  also  bowed  in  silent  prayer  for  he  had  witnessed 
many  earthly  deaths  and  knew,  at  once,  that  Manu- 
ello,  as  he  had  been  known  in  human  life,  had  passed 
beyond  all  human  judgment  and  gone  on  to  his  re 
ward  or  punishment  in  another  world  where  every 
thing  that  he  had  done  upon  the  earth  would  be  ac 
counted  for  by  him  and  him  alone;  the  good  Priest 
knew,  however,  that  God  is  good  as  well  as  just 
and  he  remembered  Manuello's  ignorance  and  super 
stition,  too,  and  hoped  that,  after  he'd  been  purged 
of  earthly  sins  by  deep  repentance,  he  would  come 
into  the  light  that  is  God's  Smile  and  shines  for  all 


An  American 

who  seek  it  honestly,  no  matter  what  their  sins  on 
earth  have  been,  but  only  after  long  and  terrible 
remorse  for  harm  that  they  have  done  while  in  the 
body  that  God  gave  them  to  use  and  not  abuse. 

The  road  that  leads  into  the  light  that  is  God's 
Smile  is  often  hedged  about  by  thorns  and  bitter 
herbs  instead  of  delicate  and  fragrant  flowers ;  some 
times  poisonous  reptiles  lurk  along  the  way  and 
strive  to  strike  their  fangs  within  the  heart  of  him 
who  toils  there;  sometimes,  human  passions  guide  a 
strong  man  into  devious  and  sinful  acts  as  Manu- 
ello  had  been  guided,  more  than  once;  he'd  yielded  to 
them  just  because  he  had  not  learned  the  way  to 
handle  them  and  they  had  mastered  him  and  made 
of  him  their  slave  instead  of  being  what  he  ordered 
them  to  be;  he'd  thrown  the  remnant  of  his  human 
life  into  the  balance  in  the  cause  he  really  loved  .  .  . 
the  cause  of  freedom  for  his  native  land. 

And  Ruth  and  Father  Felix  thought  of  him  as 
of  a  patriot  only  as  they  stood  beside  the  cot  on 
which  his  lifeless  body  lay ;  they  covered  up  his  face 
as  gently  as  if  they  had  not  known  of  any  sin  com 
mitted  by  the  hands  now  lying  still  and  cold  and 
helpless  .  .  .  they  closed  his  staring  eyes  as  softly 
as  they  would  have  closed  the  eyes  of  any  human  be 
ing  who  will  read  these  words  had  he  or  she  been  left 
for  them  to  care  for  when  the  soul  had  left  its  earthly 
tenement;  disembodied  Spirits  often  linger  near  to 
such  as  these  who  stood  beside  that  cot,  for  they 


An  American  215 

know  that  they  are  like  to  them  in  very  many  ways, 
though  yet  abiding  in  a  human  frame  .  .  .  they 
know  that  such  as  Ruth  and  Father  Felix  feel  the 
same,  sweet,  almost  holy  joy  that  comes  to  those 
who  meet  and  make  welcome  the  ones  who  leave  the 
earth-plane,  newly  dead;  though  death,  I  trust,  is 
only  just  the  change  that  frees  a  soul  from  earthly 
burdens  and  releases  it  from  earthly  darkness,  so 
that  it  may  climb,  when  it  is  purged  of  earthly  sins, 
into  the  light  that  is  the  Smile  of  God  and  shines 
for  all  who  seek  it  earnestly. 

I  do  not  think  that  there  can  be  an  everlasting  hell 
except  for  those  who  wish  to  dwell  in  darkness.  I 
do  not  think  there  can  be  perpetual  punishment  ex 
cept  for  those  who  do  not  wish  to  climb  beyond  it. 
Ruth  and  Father  Felix  felt  that  this  was  so,  although 
the  good  Priest  tried  to  think  far  otherwise,  and, 
yet,  deep  down  within  his  inner  consciousness,  he 
felt  that  God,  although  He  is  so  just,  yet  pities  those 
who  err  and  welcomes  all  who  wish  to  put  their  sins 
behind  them  in  the  path  they  find  themselves  upon,  no 
matter  whether  they  may  find  that  path  upon  the 
earthly  plane  or  on  a  higher  one.  They  turned 
away  from  that  white  cot  with  almost  God-like  pity 
in  their  inmost  hearts  for  him  who  lay  there,  or  for 
him  who  had  just  left  his  body  lying  there  upon  that 
little  cot. 

Ruth  sought  Estrella  so  that  she  might  not,  again, 
behold  the  face  of  him,  who,  for  the  love  of  her,  had 


216  An  American 

done  a  fearful  crime;  she  wished  to  save  the  girl 
for  she  had  been  as  innocent  of  wrong  as  she,  her 
self,  had  been ;  both  had  been  led  away  by  human 
passion,  it  is  true,  but  led  within  the  bounds  of  human 
law,  and,  so,  according  to  that  human  law,  neither 
one  was  culpable  .  .  .  the  man,  alone,  had  sinned, 
and  whether  it  had  been  because  he  had  been 
stronger,  every  way,  than  were  the  women  in  the 
case,  we  cannot  judge.  'Tis  God  alone  must  judge 
us  all,  and  may  He  guide  us  all,  at  last,  into  the  light 
that  is  His  holy  Smile. 


CHAPTER     XVII 

WHEN  Ruth  had  left  the  cot  where  Manuello  died, 
she,  first,  found  Estrella  and  told  her  what  had  hap 
pened  after  she  had  gone,  and,  then,  as  she  had  lib 
erty  to  go  where  she  desired,  she  started  out,  just 
as  the  dusk  was  falling,  to  drive  along  an  unknown 
road,  which  as  she  thought  must  lead  away  from  the 
battle-field;  she  felt'  secure  for  armed  men  of  her 
own  race  and  nation  were  patrolling  all  the  roads 
surrounding  the  hospital;  the  freshness  of  the  com 
ing  night  appealed  to  her  and,  under  its  enticing  in 
fluence,  she  went  much  farther  than  she  meant  to  do ; 
her  horses  often  shied  at  little  heaps  that  seemed 
to  take  on  most  fantastic  shapes  with  the  increasing 
darkness. 

She  knew  full  well  of  what  these  little  heaps  had 
been  made  up,  and,  yet,  surrounded  as  she  was  by 
horror,  she  did  not  feel  afraid,  for  she  was  lifted 
up  by  patriotic  fervor  and  a  great  desire  to  help 
where  help  of  her  was  needed  as  were  so  many  of 
the  Red  Cross  nurses  whom  she  met ;  splendid  women 
volunteered  their  services  as  nurses  during  the 
progress  of  the  Spanish-American  war,  and  wore, 
with  pride  and  reverence,  the  brilliant  cross  that  in- 

217 


218  An  American 

dicated  what  the  calling  they  had  chosen  was ;  Ruth 
Wakefield  served  her  country  with  her  might  and 
wore  her  uniform  as  proudly  and  conscientiously  as 
any  General  could;  she  drove  along  that  lonely,  un 
known  road  as  quietly  and  fearlessly  as  if  her  horses 
trotted  over  the  finest  boulevard  in  some  populous 
city  of  her  own  United  States  and  firmly  held  within 
her  strong  and  steady  hands  the  lines  that  guided  the 
high-lifed  team  she  had  secured  for  her  own  use 
since  coming  to  take  charge  of  the  hospital  which 
she  had  endowed  with  her  own  funds. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning,  her  team  was 
startled  by  a  man  who  rose  to  his  full  height  and 
stood  erect  and  tall  beside  the  road  as  if  he'd  risen 
from  the  heaps  of  dead  that  lay  beside  the  way ;  the 
horses  soon  became  unmanageable  and  overturned 
the  vehicle,  so  that  Ruth  suddenly  found  herself 
thrown  against  a  slight  embankment  lining  the  road, 
while  her  frightened  team  turned  back  toward  the 
hospital;  her  first  thought  was  of  them,  but,  re 
membering  that,  only  a  few  miles  back,  she  had 
passed  one  of  the  patrols,  she  hoped  the  team  would 
be  secured  and  taken  into  safety ;  then,  shudderingly, 
she  realized  that  she  was  all  alone  in  a  strange  and 
hostile  neighborhood,  and,  acting  on  a  sudden  im 
pulse,  she  hastily  climbed  over  the  embankment  as 
she  thought  she  heard  a  noise  approaching  on  the 
road;  she  turned  and  started  back  but  kept  herself 


An  American  219 

concealed  as  much  as  possible  behind  the  friendly 
embankment. 

As  she  proceeded  she  began  to  feel  a  sort  of  faint- 
ness,  almost  amounting  to  nausea,  creeping  over  her 
and  dreaded  the  long  walk  to  the  hospital,  but  de 
cided  to  go  on  until  she  saw  an  armed  man  dressed 
in  the  uniform  of  the  United  States  army;  she  won 
dered,  at  first,  why  she  felt  faint  and  almost  sick, 
and,  then,  she  realized  that  the  offensive  odors  that 
assailed  her  sensitive  olfactory  nerves  were  those 
that  rise  when  material  bodies  have  been  deprived 
of  the  higher  life  that  gave  them  animation  .  .  . 
that  the  horrors  of  a  bloody  battle-field  surrounded 
her,  and,  as  she  advanced  slowly  and  with  dreadful 
anticipation  ...  as  she  even  stumbled  over  more 
than  one  unconscious  form,  that,  only  a  few  short 
hours  before,  had  been  as  full  of  bounding  life  as 
she  was  then,  she  thought  of  what  the  suffering  must 
be  of  those  who  lay  among  the  dead,  perhaps  for 
weary,  pain-filled  hours,  alive  yet  helpless ;  the 
thought  was  a  terrific  one  for  any  tender-hearted 
woman  to  entertain,  and  Ruth  had  always  been  par 
ticularly  thoughtful  of  the  comfort  of  anyone  who 
happened  to  be  near  to  her,  and,  so,  she  soon  be 
came  enthused  with  the  idea  that  she  might  search 
among  the  heaps  of  dead  and  find,  maybe,  someone 
who  lived  and  might,  if  he  were  rescued,  yet  be 
happy  in  the  world  she  lived  in,  and,  so,  she  softly 


An  American 

called  to  see  if  anyone  could  hear  her  voice  and 
guide  her  to  the  object  of  her  search: 

"Are  any  here  who  are  in  need  of  earthly  help?" 
she  asked.  "If  any  here  can  hear  my  voice,  pray 
answer  me  and  tell  me  where  to  come  to  find  you." 

She  waited  for  an  answer  but  none  came,  at  first; 
and  then  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  heard  a  far-off 
whisper  far  away  .  .  .  she  listened  breathlessly  .  .  . 
it  came  again  and,  then,  she  followed  it  until  she 
found  the  one  from  whom  the  whisper  came. 

He  lay  among  a  heap  of  bodies  tossed  about  as 
if  they  had  found  death  together;  one  whose  body 
lay  across  his  own,  Ruth  lifted,  though  she  shuddered 
while  she  did  it,  for  the  stark,  stiff  form  was  that 
of  one  who'd,  only  lately,  been  as  full  of  life  as  she 
was  then ;  she  laid  if  softly  down  and  sought  the  one 
whose  whisper  she  had  heard;  her  hand  crept  up, 
along  a  rough  and  blood-soaked  uniform,  until  it 
found  a  face  and  found  it  warm  with  sentient  life; 
she  was  electrified  by  joy  at  finding  one  who  lived 
among  the  dead,  and  hastened,  then,  to  separate  him 
from  the  other  bodies  lying  all  around  him;  it  was 
as  if  they'd  followed  after  him  ...  as  if  he'd  been  a 
leader  of  the  rest  .  .  .  for  he  was  well  in  front  of 
all  of  them  and  yet  they  were  so  near  that,  when  they 
fell,  they  fell  together,  all  around  the  one  whose  life 
she  sought  to  save. 

She  was  intent  on  saving  life  and  did  not  shrink 
although  her  gentle  hand  found  many  bloody  wounds 


An  American  221 

in  searching  for  the  one  from  which  his  life-blood 
flowed  full  fast;  she  found  the  place,  at  last  ...  a 
deep  flesh-wound  that  touched  an  artery  in  his  right 
arm  .  .  .  she  had  a  silken  scarf  about  her  throat, 
and,  wrapping  this  about  the  arm  above  the  wound, 
she  made  a  tourniquet  by  using  a  small  surgical  in 
strument  which  she  always  carried  for  that  purpose 
in  the  pocket  of  her  nurse's  apron  which  she  still 
wore;  this  stopped  the  flow  of  blood  at  once,  and, 
as  the  brachial  artery  was  untouched,  the  man  gained 
strength  enough  to  whisper: 

"Tender  Heart  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  name  you  right 
away.  Tender  Herrt,  how  did  you  happen  here  .  .  . 
at  night  .  .  .  alone?" 

"I  think  I  came  to  find  you,"  answered  Ruth.  "I 
thought  my  horses  ran  away  and  dumped  me  on 
the  ground,  but,  now,  I  think  I  came  here  just  to 
find  you  and  to  bind  that  poor  arm.  Now  I'll  go 
to  bring  assistance  to  you  just  as  soon  as  I  can 
do  so." 

"Tender  Heart,"  he  whispered,  for  his  voice  was 
growing  fainter,  "if  I  should  not  be  here  when  you 
come  again,  good-bye.  .  .  .  God  bless  and  keep  you 
safe  from  harm." 

She  knew  the  meaning  of  the  words  and  almost  flew 
along,  although  she  often  stumbled  as  she  went 
among  the  bodies  lying  there  upon  the  blood-soaked 
ground;  she  reached  the  hospital  at  last  .  .  .  the 
time  seemed  long  to  her  .  .  .  and,  there,  in  front  of 


An  American 

it,  stood  her  two  frightened  horses,  looking  all 
around  as  if  in  search  of  her ;  she  soothed  them  with 
her  reassuring  voice,  and  then  she  found  a  vehicle 
adapted  to  the  use  she  wished  to  put  it  to,  and  two 
assistants  from  the  hospital  staff ;  thus  equipped,  she 
took  the  lines  again  and  drove  along  the  road  again 
but  with  a  different  object  than  the  one  she'd  had 
before;  turning  off  the  road,  she  found  the  object 
of  her  search  and  the  assistants  lifted  him  upon  the 
stretcher  they  had  brought  and,  very  soon,  the  man 
lay,  white  and  spent  with  loss  of  blood,  but  con 
scious,  in  a  little  cot,  and  Ruth,  forgetting  her  own 
needs,  stood  there  beside  it. 

"Tender  Heart,"  said  her  new  patient,  after  he  had 
been  refreshed  and  bandaged  thoroughly,  "Tender 
Heart,  I'm  very  grateful  to  you.  Let  me  introduce 
myself  to  you  .  .  .  your  name,  you  see,  I  know.  I 
am  one  of  the  five  men  who  answered  Roosevelt  when 
he  asked  for  volunteers  to  follow  him  to  gain  the 
very  top  of  all  the  ridges  that  cropped  up  about 
San  Juan  hill."  He  smiled,  "I  think  you  know  me, 
now,  as  I  know  you.  We're  both  Americans.  .  .  . 
I  know  that,  too  ...  we  both  love  Teddy.  ...  I 
could  see  your  eyes  flash  at  the  mention  of  his  name. 
He  is  a  man  among  men.  I  wish  you  could  have 
heard  him  when  he  said  'I  did  not  think  you  would 
refuse  to  follow  where  I  would  lead.'  I  stood  beside 
his  horse  as  he  said  those  sad  words  .  .  .  the  others 
followed,  then.  They  followed  Teddy  up  that  hill 


An  American  223 

.  .  .  they  took  it,  too.  We  won  the  day.  The  Span 
iards  fled  before  us.  You  know  me,  now,"  he  ended, 
whimsically,  "just  as  well  as  I  know  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Ruth,  "I  know  you,  now,  and  you 
know  me  .  .  .  we're  both  Americans  and  both  of  us 
love  Teddy  and  are  proud  of  him  and  what  he  did 
this  day.  And,  now,  you'd  better  go  to  sleep  and 
rest  up  for  we  still  have  work  to  do  ...  the 
Spaniard  is  not  conquered,  yet.  They'll  need  us 
both  and  so  we  must  do  all  we  can  to  keep  our 
strength.  I'm  going,  now.  Good-bye  until  tomor 
row." 

"Goodnight,  Tender  Heart,"  he  said.  "Good 
night." 

Ruth  went,  then,  to  the  little  cottage  where  she 
found  old  Mage  and  Tid-i-wats  awaiting  her; 
Estrella  stayed  on  duty  in  the  hospital  where  she  had 
learned  to  do  her  work  with  neatness  and  dispatch. 

Ruth  always  told  old  Mage  the  happenings  of  the 
day  as  they  were  seated  at  their  evening  meal;  her 
old  nurse  loved  to  listen  to  her  animated  account  of 
every  little  thing  that  she  remembered  that  she'd 
seen  or  heard  about;  she  had  an  unusual  memory  of 
small  details  and  a  most  graphic  power  of  descrip 
tion  ;  these  she  employed  to  interest  and  amuse  her 
old  nurse  who  had  been  alone  with  little  Tid-i-wats, 
almost  all  day ;  in  recounting  recent  events  she  passed 
as  lightly  as  possible  over  the  occurrences  of  the  bat 
tle-field  where  she  had  found  and  rescued  one  who  had 


224  An  American 

been  left  as  dead  among  the  lifeless  bodies  of  the 
slain ;  she  did  not  wish  to  shock  old  Mage  too  much 
and,  somehow,  she  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  him  she'd 
rescued  .  .  .  somehow,  she  feared  that  her  auditor, 
who  was  always  eager  for  romantic  episodes  would, 
maybe,  choose  to  enter  into  rhapsodies  concerning 
the  possibilities  of  her  own  future  if  she  talked  too 
much  about  the  handsome  stranger,  for  remember 
ing  how  he'd  looked  resting,  as  she'd  seen  him  last, 
upon  the  little  cot,  his  dark-blue  eyes  regarding  her 
with  whimsical  tenacity,  she  freely  acknowledged 
to  herself  that  he  was  handsome  and  distinguished 
in  appearance;  so  she  changed  the  subject  when  old 
Mage  began  to  question  her  too  closely  about  him, 
and,  in  the  changing  of  the  subject,  the  rosy  flush 
that  was  so  much  a  part  of  her  expression,  crept 
over  her  fair  face  and  lighted  up  her  deep  gray  eyes 
until  her  countenance  was  glorified,  as  if  her  inner 
consciousness  shone  through  her  delicate  and  expres 
sive  features ;  old  Mage  observed  this  blush  and  spec 
ulated  on  its  cause  and  wondered  whether  Ruth  had 
found  another  man  more  worthy  of  affection  than  the 
one  she  hoped  she  had  almost  forgotten. 

When  Ruth  returned,  the  next  day,  to  the  hos 
pital,  she  went  among  the  little  cots  until  she  came 
to  that  one  where  he  lay  .  .  .  the  man  she'd  helped 
to  rescue  from  a  slow  and  very  painful  death;  she 
found  him  lying  wide  awake  and  very  thoughtful: 


An  American  225 

"Tender  Heart,"  he  said,  "Tender  Heart,  you've 
come  to  me,  again ;  I've  longed  for  you  and  now 
you're  here  beside  me." 

She  rested  one  of  her  soft  hands  upon  the  cot  and 
his  hand  searched  for  hers  and  found  it;  then  their 
fingers  intertwined  and  clung  together  for  a  mo 
ment  only,  but  the  memory  of  that  hand-clasp 
lingered  with  them  forever  after;  it  was  as  if  their 
very  souls  had  intermingled  in  that  clasping  of  their 
hands  ...  it  was  as  if  their  spirits  swung,  to 
gether,  out  .  .  .  far  out  .  .  .  beyond  the  things  of 
earth  .  .  .  and,  then,  still  farther  out  and  on  and 
up  into  eternal  peace  and  lasting  joy  and  gladness 
...  it  was  as  if  they  had  been  translated  into  dis 
embodied  spirits  while  they  still  remained  on  earth 
.  .  .  as  if  a  higher  and  a  holier  love  than  any  earthly 
love  can  ever  be  had  sought  them  out  and  found 
them  there  within  that  shadowy  hospital  ...  it  was 
as  if  they  had  gone  on  into  the  astral  world  and  left 
their  human  bodies  where  they  seemed  to  be  them 
selves  ...  as  if  they  had  been  separated  from  the 
material  surroundings  that  seemed  to  be  about  them. 

Ruth  blushed  until  the  rosy  flush  crept  up  to  her 
brown  hair  that  seemed  to  frame  her  face,  and  looked 
at  the  soft  fingers  that  his  hand  had  held  and  then 
she  smoothed  his  pillow  with  them  as  she  said: 

T'I'm  very  glad  to  find  that  you  are  better  than 
you  were  last  night.  I  surely  hopp  that  you'll  re- 


226  An  American 

cover  very  rapidly.  I'm  told  that  men  like  you  will 
soon  again  be  needed.  It  is  reported  that  another 
battle  will  be  fought  not  very  far  from  here." 

"I  surely  hope,"  he  said  and  said  it  very  earnestly, 
"I  surely  hope  that  I'll  be  able  to  take  my  part  in 
whatever  engagement  is  entered  into  by  our  troops, 
and  if,  perchance,  I  should  be  left  again  upon  a  bat 
tle-field,  I  trust  that  you  will  come  and  find  me,  Ten 
der  Heart,  I  trust  that  you  will  find  me  and,  if  it 
pleases  you,  I  hope  you'll  keep  me,  Tender  Heart." 

She  blushed  again  at  that  and  simply  said: 

"Now  you  must  go  to  sleep  and  rest  and  gain  what 
strength  you  can,  for  men  like  you,"  she  ended, 
archly,  "for  men  like  you  are  almost  always  needed 
very  badly." 

Ruth  Wakefield  was  no  flirt  and  never  had  been 
one;  she  was  quickwitted  and  she  had  a  wide  com 
mand  of  language,  and  she  smiled  as  she  went  on  upon 
her  rounds  among  the  little  cots  when  she  remembered 
that  neither  of  them  really  knew  the  other's  name ; 
she  liked  the  name  he'd  given  to  her  .  .  .  she  liked 
the  way  he  said  it  ...  she  liked  the  fine  expression 
of  his  speaking  countenance  .  .  .  she  liked  his  eyes 
.  .  .  she  liked  his  manly  way  of  meeting  whatever 
came  to  him  with  courage  and  with  cheerful  readi 
ness  to  serve  the  country  they  both  loved  .  .  .  her 
heart  went  out  to  him  in  very  many  ways,  and,  then, 
she  looked  again  at  those  soft  fingers  that  his  hand 
had  held  .  .  .  she  seemed  to  feel  again  the  subtle,  un- 


An  American  227 

explainable,  electric  thrill  that  crept  through  all  her 
being  at  his  touch  .  .  .  that  seemed  to  answer  to  the 
look  within  his  eyes  .  .  .  the  accent  on  his  tongue, 
and,  then,  she  blushed  again  and  went  about  her  work 
within  that  shadowy  hospital  where  many  strong  men 
lay  in  bitter  pain  with  renewed  courage  and  with  a 
new  and  hitherto  unknown  tenderness. 

She  stood,  at  length,  beside  a  cot  whereon  lay  one 
whose  face  was  hidden  while  surgeons  dressed  a  gap 
ing  wound  he  had  received  upon  his  head;  Ruth 
stopped  and  gave  her  scissors  that  she  always  carried 
in  the  pocket  of  her  apron  to  the  one  who  needed 
them  for  use  in  cutting  away  the  dark  hair  that  grew 
along  the  edges  of  the  wound;  it  clung  in  tiny 
ringlets  and  was  black  as  night  and  very  soft  and 
thick.  .  .  .  Ruth  could  not  help  remembering,  that 
her  hands  had  often  strayed  among  such  soft  and 
dark  and  clinging  ringlets,  but  she  shuddered  as  she 
thought  of  them  and  of  Estrella  who  had  deemed 
herself  to  be  the  only  woman  Victorio  Colenzo  had 
ever  loved,  and,  then,  she  wondered  if  all  men  were 
like  to  that  one  she  had  married  thinking  him  to  be 
as  he  professed  to  be  ...  judging  him  to  be  as 
truthful  as  she  was  .  .  .  she  wondered  if  the  man  she 
had  just  left  would  be  like  that  under  similar  cir 
cumstances  ...  he  was  ready  in  his  hints  at  tender 
ness  .  .  .  was  he,  too,  perhaps,  a  gay  deceiver? 

While  her  thoughts  were  rambling  on  in  this  way, 
her  eyes  were  idly  looking  at  the  man  who  lay  upon 


An  American 

his  face  and  writhed  under  the  stitches  that  the  sur 
geons  took  to  close  the  gaping  wound  upon  his  head ; 
he  turned  his  face  an  instant  toward  her  and  she 
recognized  him  as  a  Spanish  officer  she'd  seen  in  San 
Domingo  under  most  distressing  circumstances ;  she 
had  gone,  as  she  had  often  done  before,  to  minister 
to  the  needs  of  those  who  were  among  the  poorer 
classes  in  the  village,  one  day,  and  found  before  a 
hovel  a  most  richly  caparisoned  horse  held  by  an 
orderly;  inside,  there  knelt  upon  the  floor  a  young 
and  pretty  peasant  girl ;  she  was  imploring  this  same 
officer  who  lay  upon  that  little  cot  not  to  make  her 
go  with  him  to  be  his  helpless  slave ;  Ruth  rescued  her 
and  told  the  man  to  go  his  way  in  no  uncertain 
language;  now,  he  lay  there  dressed  as  if  he  were 
an  American  soldier;  she  recognized  him  perfectly 
for  his  face  had  often  haunted  her,  it  was  so  sinister 
and  devilish. 

She  sought  out  Father  Felix,  then,  and  told  him 
what  she  had  discovered,  and  he  took  what  steps 
were  necessary  in  the  matter,  for  he  who'd  named 
Ruth  Tender  Heart  had  named  her  very  well  in 
deed;  it  seemed  to  her  she  could  not  bear  to  turn 
this  Spanish  spy  over  to  the  proper  authorities,  and, 
yet,  she  knew  it  was  her  duty  to  do  that  very  thing, 
so  the  good  Priest  helped  her  to  do  her  duty  as  he'd 
promised  her  he  would,  and,  after  that,  there  was  a 
wall  at  sunrise  and  a  platoon  of  armed  men,  and, 
then,  that  Spanish  spy  soon  disappeared. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

WE  intimated  when  we  first  began  this  tale  that 
Father  Felix  was  a  man  to  be  admired,  not  only  for 
his  strong  religious  zeal,  but  for  his  great  virility 
and  patriotic  fervor. 

Never  had  he  shown  these  qualities  more  fully 
than  during  the  naval  battle  of  Santiago  which  en 
gagement  took  place  shortly  after  the  events  nar 
rated  in  the  last  chapter;  there  was  work  to  do  on 
land  as  well  as  on  the  water  at  that  crucial  time; 
more  than  18,000  helpless  persons  .  .  .  men, 
women  and  children  .  .  .  marched  out  of  the  be- 
leagued  city  seeking  safety  in  the  open  country  sur 
rounding  it ;  among  these  were  many  wealthy  women 
of  the  higher  class  whose  delicate  silken  garments 
were  bedraggled  and  torn  by  the  hardships  of  the 
journey  which  it  was  necessary  to  make  on  foot  over 
muddy  roads  and  through  barbed  wires  which  had 
been  stretched  irregularly  all  around  Santiago  and, 
its  vicinity  by  the  Spanish  soldiery  for  the  purpose 
of  turning  back  the  invading  Americans  who  were 
advancing  upon  them. 

Among  these  women  there  was  one  who  reached  the 
hospital  over  which  Ruth  Wakefield  presided;  she 

229 


230  An  American 

was  bespattered  and  weary  and  sick  at  heart,  but 
there  was  a  light  in  her  dark  eyes  and  a  steadiness 
in  her  firm  hand  that  appealed  to  Ruth  at  once  and 
made  her  single  this  one  woman  from  among  all  who 
came  to  her  that  day  for  help ;  as  soon  as  she  had 
changed  her  apparel  and  washed  the  grime  of  travel 
from  her  person,  she  asked  to  be  allowed  to  assist 
the  others  who  were  at  work  among  the  little  cots 
that  were  now  filled  with  suffering  humanity;  she 
took  her  place  so  quietly  that  it  seemed  to  those 
among  whom  she  moved  that  she  had  almost  always 
been  right  there  and  would  always  continue  to  be 
there;  Estrella  liked  her  from  the  first  of  their  ac 
quaintance  and  the  older  woman  found  the  girl  so 
pleasing  that  whenever  she  could  do  so,  she  gave  her 
hand  a  little  squeeze  or  patted  her  upon  her  shoulder 
to  make  her  know  that  they  two  were  congenial  and 
going  on,  together,  toward  the  same  loved  goal;  this 
silent  association  became  at  once  a  bond  between 
these  two  who,  in  their  nurse's  uniforms,  looked 
enough  alike  to  be  twin  sisters  .  .  .  they  had  the 
same  dark  eyes  and  sensitive  and  drooping  lips  .  .  . 
they  had  the  same  fair  skins,  although  Estrella  had 
been  tanned  by  more  outside  exposure  than  the  other 
had  .  .  .  they  moved  in  the  same  way  and  both  were 
tall  and  straight  and  lithe  and  quick;  Ruth  noticed 
them  together  and  at  once  began  to  wonder  why  they 
looked  so  much  alike  .  .  .  then  she  thought  of  what 
Estrella'd  told  her  as  to  what  she  knew  of  her  own 


An  American  231 

family,  and,  immediately,  Ruth  began  to  speculate 
and  piece  together  little  circumstances  and  then  she 
soon  began  to  hope  that  poor  Estrella,  maybe,  might, 
in  this  way,  find  her  own  people;  so  she  asked  some 
kindly  questions  of  the  woman  who  had  come  to  them 
that  day,  and  she  found  that  she  had  had  a  little  sis 
ter,  long  ago  ...  a  little  sister  who  had  disappeared 
and  whom  they'd  mourned  as  dead  for  many  years; 
Ruth  told  her  all  she  knew  about  the  girl  .  .  .  all 
except  her  intimate  association  with  the  man  whom, 
she,  herself,  had  married;  she  did  not  feel  that  she 
could  speak  of  him  to  this  dark  stranger  .  .  .  any 
way,  it  would  not  matter,  now,  and  if  Estrella 
wished  to  speak  about  it  later  on,  then  she  could  do 
so ;  they  called  the  girl,  then,  and  found  she  had  a 
little  dainty  cross  of  gold  that  she  had  always  worn 
about  her  neck.  .  .  .  Manuello's  mother  had  pre 
served  it  for  her  while  she  was  an  infant  thinking  it 
might  prove  the  child's  identity,  so  that  the  ones 
who'd  cared  for  her  might  be  profited  thereby,  and, 
since  she  knew  about  it,  she,  herself,  had  held  it 
sacred  as  the  only  link  that  bound  her  to  her  un 
known  family  .  .  .  and  so  it  proved,  indeed,  the  link 
that  proved  her  as  the  sister  of  the  lady  who  had 
come  to  them  that  day  from  the  beleaguered  city  of 
Santiago. 

-  Estrella's  blood,  it  seemed,  was  Spanish  .  .  .  she 
had  descended  from  the  ones  who  knew  the  roses 
of  Castile  .  .  .  she'd  always  seemed  far  different 


An  American 

from  the  peasants  among  whom  she'd  lived  until  she 
met  Ruth  Wakefield  who  recognized  in  her  a  higher 
strain  ...  a  higher  nature  .  .  .  than  she  found  in 
any  of  the  peasants  whom  she  met  in  San  Domingo ; 
old  Mage,  even,  looked  upon  Estrella  differently 
than  on  the  other  servants  whom  she  always  treated 
with  great  condecension,  for  she  felt  herself  above 
the  most  of  them  as  she  was  always  nearer  to  her 
dear  young  lady  than  any  of  them  were;  Ruth 
trusted  her  with  Tid-i-wats,  for  one  thing,  which 
separated  her  from  all  the  rest,  for  Tid-i-wats,  was 
most  abrupt  in  very  many  ways,  and,  sometimes,  even 
went  so  far  as  to  just  sink  her  long,  sharp  claws 
right  through  whatever  garments  anybody  wore,  so 
that  they  found  and  often  even  penetrated  the  skin 
beneath  the  garments ;  she  would  do  this  deed  in  such 
a  loving  way  that  many  who  were  sadly  scratched 
by  her  would  try  to  smile  and  take  this  punishment 
as  if  it  were  but  joy  and  gladness  .  .  .  old  Mage 
squirmed  sometimes,  'tis  true,  beneath  this  discipline 
that  Tid-i-wats  gave  very  freely,  but  she  never  put 
her  down  or  turned  against  her, — only  saying: 

"Tid-i-wats!  Good  land!  Your  blessed  little 
claws  are  very  sharp  indeed,"  and,  then,  she'd  often 
turn  to  Ruth  and  add,  "I  tell  you  Tid-i-wats  is  just 
as  young  and  spry  as  she  ever  was  ...  no  one  would 
ever  think  how  old  she  is  if  he  could  feel  her  claws." 

When  Estrella  found  that  she  was  not  alone,  but 
had  a  family,  and  a  loving,  wealthy  sister,  old  Mage 


An  American  233 

was  very  glad  indeed  .  .  .  she'd  found  the  girl  a 
little  in  her  way  for  many  reasons ;  Ruth  deferred  to 
her  a  little,  pitying  her  so  much,  and  old  Mage  knew 
that  if  Ruth  pitied  anybody  very  much  she  might, 
in  time,  begin  to  love  the  person  whom  she  put  her 
tender  pity  on,  and,  then,  to  the  old  nurse,  Estrella 
always  brought  up  the  memory  of  the  man  who  had 
deceived  her  .  .  .  made  her  think  him  to  be  far  bet 
ter  than  he'd  ever  been  .  .  .  and,  so,  altogether, 
Estrella's  good  fortune  pleased  old  Mage  in  very 
many  pleasant  ways. 

To  say  that  Ruth  was  glad  to  have  Estrella  find 
her  people  was  to  put  the  case  too  lightly  altogether ; 
she  was  far  too  unselfish  not  to  rejoice  in  her  good 
fortune  even  though  her  going  might  mean  great  hu 
man  loneliness  for  her:  she  had  in  her  own  inner 
consciousness  a  kind  of  spiritual  and  lasting  strength 
on  which  she  always  leaned  when  outside  companion 
ship  failed  her  in  any  way  .  .  .  she  never  was  alone 
although  she  often  seemed  to  be  so  .  .  .  in  fact,  Ruth 
Wakefield  often  found  herself  to  be  alone  among  a 
crowd  of  human  beings  ...  it  seemed  to  her  their 
many  diverse  thoughts  disturbed  the  peace  of  mind 
she  always  longed  to  have  .  .  .  her  pity  was  so  great 
.  .  .  her  sympathy  so  broad  .  .  .  and  sorrows  and 
sore  trials  are  so  common  to  the  entire  race  of  men 
and  women  .  .  .  that  she  seldom  found  much  joy 
among  the  people  whom  she  met;  she  gave  most 
liberally  to  all  she  came  in  contact  with  .  .  .  she 


234  An  American 

gave  encouragement  and  comfort  and  sympathy  and 
help  .  .  .  but  seldom  did  she  find  a  human  being 
who  could  give  her  anything  at  all  for  any  length  of 
time,  at  least : 

"They  come  and  they  go,"  she  often  sadly  said. 
"It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  nothing  steadfast  in  this 
world  except  the  God  on  whom  I  always  lean  when 
all  else  fails  me.  ...  I  wish  I  could  find  something 
strong  enough  to  tie  my  faith  to  ...  I  wish  I  could 
.  .  .  it  would  be  wonderful  to  know  that  I  could 
always  find  good,  solid  ground  beneath  my  human 
feet  ...  it  would  be  wonderful  to  feel  that  nothing 
mattered  between  another  human  being  and  myself 
.  .  .to  feel  that  nothing,  good  or  bad,  could  ever 
really  change  our  feelings  toward  each  other  .  .  . 
but  I'd  have  to  know  for  sure  that  it  was  so  .  .  ." 
.she'd  add,  "I'd  have  to  know  for  sure,  I'd  have  to 
try  it  out  somehow  ...  so  many  things  have  slipped 
away  from  me  ...  so  very  many  things  .  .  .  I'd 
have  to  know  for  sure,  somehow,  before  I'd  dare  to 
trust  too  much." 

While  these  personal  matters  were  taking  the  at 
tention  of  some  of  those  within  the  shadowy  hospital, 
Father  Felix  was  undergoing  an  altogether  different 
experience. 

The  good  Priest  had,  more  than  once,  covered  the 
entire  eight  miles  of  entrenchments  around  San 
tiago  on  foot  and  with  a  heavy  pack  containing  sup 
plies  on  his  broad  back ;  during  the  time  that  elapsed 


An  American  235 

between  the  naval  battle  of  Santiago  and  the  sur 
render  of  the  city  on  Sunday,  July  17,  1898,  he 
had  marched  with  his  little  flock  of  soldiers  over 
many  stony  trails  and  through  many  miry  passes, 
and,  while  the  engagement  itself  was  in  progress,  he 
had  performed  many  heroic  deeds  and,  more  than 
once,  he  had  fervently  thanked  God  for  his  sturdy 
strength  of  arm  and  limb  because  he  was  thereby 
enabled  to  give  material  as  well  as  spiritual  aid  to 
those  who  came  within  the  reach  of  his  hands ;  had 
anyone  been  watching  a  certain  shady  spot  near 
Santiago  on  July  3,  1898,  he  might  have  witnessed 
a  peculiar  scene. 

A  rather  short  thick-set  man,  dressed  as  an  army 
Chaplain  and  wearing  a  crucifix  attached  to  a  strong 
chain  around  his  neck,  was  bending  over  one  who 
lay  there  in  the  shade;  he  seemed  to  be  examining 
the  man  to  see  if  life  remained  in  his  body,  and,  yet, 
he  always  held  the  crucifix  before  the  face  of  him 
who  lay  there  as  if  he  wished  him  to  behold  it,  in 
case  his  earthly  eyes  should  evermore  see  anything; 
he  tried  in  every  way  he  could  to  gain  some  recogni 
tion  of  his  holy  office  from  the  man  over  whose  earthly 
tenement  he  was  then  bending,  but,  as  he  did  not 
succeed  in  this,  he  gently  laid  the  crucifix  upon  the 
apparently  pulseless  breast,  and  went  his  way  to 
find,  perhaps,  another  one  to  whom  he  might  ad 
minister  the  final  consolation  of  the  church  whose 
dogmas  he  believed  in. 


236  An  American 

The  man  he'd  left  behind  him  stirred  uneasily,  and, 
as  he  writhed  and  twisted  there,  the  crucifix  slid  off 
his  breast  and  fell  upon  the  ground ;  it  lay  where 
it  had  fallen  until  Father  Felix  came  again  and 
brought  with  him  another  sufferer;  he  looked  upon 
the  breast  of  his  first  charge  and  did  not  see  his 
crucifix  ...  it  lay  beneath  the  body  of  the  one  he'd 
left  it  with ;  he  gently  said : 

"I  left  my  crucifix  with  you,  my  Friend  ...  I 
thought  it  might  be  a  consolation  to  you  if  you  came 
to  life  again  at  all.  I  do  not  see  the  crucifix  .  .  . 
could  anyone  have  taken  it  during  my  absence,  I 
wonder  ?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  anything  about  your  cruci 
fix,  good  Sir,"  the  man  replied  in  a  weak  voice.  "I 
have  other  things  to  fix  my  mind  on  than  anything 
like  that.  For  one  thing,  I  am  wounded  and  I  need 
a  surgeon  more  than  I  do  Priests  or  crosses." 

"I'll  supply  that  need  as  far  as  I  am  able,"  Father 
Felix  said.  "I  know  I  am  an  amateur  and  yet  I  have 
set  broken  limbs  and  tied  up  arteries  and  sewed  up 
wounds  full  many  times  because  there  was  no  one 
better  near  enough  to  do  it.  Where  are  you  hurt, 
my  Friend?" 

"I  am  not  hurt  at  all,  you  blundering  old  fool, 
you  .  .  ."  the  man  began.  "I'm  dead  and  buried 
.  .  .  killed  completely  .  .  .  that  is  all  ...  and  I 
don't  want  any  old  woman's  work.  Go  get  a  surgeon 


An  American  237 

for  me  .    .    .  quick !    Fm  losing  lots  of  blood  ...  I 
need  a  surgeon,  I  tell  you  ...  go  get  me  one !" 

Father  Felix  did  not  say  a  word  in  answer  to  this 
tirade  for  he  had  heard  full  many  such  remarks  since 
he  had  been  at  work  among  the  soldiers,  and,  so,  he 
bound  the  wounds  of  the  second  sufferer  he'd 
brought  before  he  stopped  the  flow  of  blood  from  his 
first  charge,  for,  well  he  knew  the  loss  of  some  good 
red  blood  might  make  it  easier  for  him  to  help  the 
man  ...  he  was  too  full  of  life  and  anger  .  .  .  too 
full  of  unrepented  viciousness  .  .  .  for  the  good 
Priest  to  help  him  very  much,  and,  so,  he  let  him  lay 
there  in  the  shade  and  curse  and  fume  and  rage  until 
he  worked  his  evil  temper  off  a  little;  then  he  gently 
said  to  him : 

"Now,  if  you  think  that  I  can  help  you  any,  I 
will  do  all  I  can  for  you,  Friend,  but  if  you'd  rather 
lie  there  on  the  ground  and  take  the  name  of  God  in 
vain,  why,  I  must  let  you  do  so.  There  is  no  one 
within  hail  except  myself,  who  knows  a  thing  about 
surgery,  unless  this  man,  here,  does ;  I  do  not  know 
about  that  part  but  he  is  wounded,  too,  so  that  I 
guess  I  am  your  only  hope  here  on  the  earth  at 
present.  May  I  see  your  hurt  and  maybe  bind  it  up 
and  make  your  suffering  less  than  it  is,  now?" 

Sheepishly,  the  man  looked  up  at  him,  and  moved  a 
little  so  the  crucifix  became  exposed;  Father  Felix 
quickly  picked  it  up  and  put  the  chain  around  his 


238  An  American 

neck  again,  and  then  he  added  to  the  things  that  he 
had  said  before: 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad  I  found  my  crucifix  .  .  . 
it  is  of  value  to  me  for  it  has  been  the  means  of 
consolation  to  a  great  many  sufferers  from  this  sad 
war ;  it  seems  to  help  so  many  to  behold  the  sufferings 
of  One  Who  gave  His  precious  life  to  save  the  lost 
and  suffering  souls  who  wander  on  the  earth.  He 
loved  you,  Sir,  and,  in  His  Name,  I  love  you,  too, 
and  wish  to  help  you,  though  you  flout  my  work  in 
your  behalf.  I  am  an  amateur,  but  I  can  bind  the 
only  wound  I  see  about  you,  Sir.  Shall  I  do  it,  Sir, 
or  not?  I'd  like  to  do  the  work  the  very  best  I 
could,  but,  if  you  say  me  nay,  I'll  leave  it  as  it  is." 

The  man  grinned  like  a  bashful  boy,  but  he  bowed 
his  head  in  assent  and  Father  Felix  went  to  work  and 
bound  his  wound  and  left  him  lying  there  beside  the 
other  sufferer  and  went  to  find  another  man  to  help ; 
his  stocky  legs  and  muscular  arms  came  in  quite 
handily,  that  time,  for,  when  he  came  back  to  the 
shady  spot,  he  bore  one  on  his  shoulder  who  looked 
and  seemed  as  if  already  dead  and  gone  beyond  the 
things  of  earth  but  Father  Felix  laid  him  gently 
down  and  knelt  beside  him  while  he  gently  laid  his 
recovered  crucifix  upon  his  almost  pulseless  breast; 
the  first  man  watched  the  operation  silently,  and, 
then,  he  moved  a  little  farther  from  the  deepest  of  the 
shade  and  said: 


An  American  239 

"Better  bring  him  over  here.  It's  better  in  the 
shade.  I'll  make  a  little  more  room  here  beside  me 
and  maybe  I  can  help  some  in  the  dressing  of  his 
wounds." 

"I  thank  you,  Sir,"  the  Priest  replied.  "I  surely 
thank  you  kindly,  but  this  man  has  gone,  I  fear, 
beyond  our  earthly  aid ;  and,  yet,  I  could  not  bear  to 
leave  him  lying  out  there  in  the  sun ;  the  heat  is  ter 
rible  out  there  and  flies  and  insects  gather  round 
and  many  lying  out  there  suffer  from  their  stings. 
I'll  leave  my  crucifix,  here,  on  his  breast,  and,  if  he 
moves  or  speaks,  will  you  please  tell  him  I  will  be 
right  back?" 

And  then  good  Father  Felix  made  another  solemn 
trip  to  that  sad  battle-field  and  brought  another  man 
into  the  shade;  and  he  whom  he  had  brought  there, 
just  before,  lay  silently  .  .  .  the  silent  crucifix  upon 
his  breast.  The  priest  leaned  down  to  listen  for 
his  breathing,  then,  and  raised  his  head  with  joy 
depicted  on  his  countenance. 

"He  lives !"  he  cried  aloud.  "This  poor  fellow  is 
alive !  Perli^ps  it  may  be  possible  for  us  to  bring 
him  into  consciousness  again.  Now,  Sir,"  he  ad 
dressed  the  man  he  had  first  brought  into  the  friendly 
shade,  "ma}7be  you  can  help  me.  Take  one  of  his 
hands  between  your  own  and  rub  it  just  as  hard  as 
you  can  rub  it,  Sir;  that's  right  .  .  .  now,  take 
the  other  one  and  do  the  same  with  it.  Your  strong 


240  An  American 

vitality  will  maybe  help  his  weakness,  Sir.  We  two 
together  may  be  instruments  in  God's  Hands  to 
bring  him  back  to  earthly  life  again." 

He  put  some  drops  of  cordial  on  his  tongue  and 
chafed  his  limbs  and  turned  him  over  many  times 
until  he  saw  some  signs  of  returning  consciousness 
and  then  he  raised  him  up  and  rested  his  head  upon 
his  helper's  breast  and  held  the  crucifix  before  his 
face  so  he  would  see  it  if  his  eyes  would  open;  and 
his  helper  held  the  hands  of  him  who  seemed  about 
to  die  and  gazed  with  eagerness  into  his  countenance. 

The  good  Priest  saw  this  look  upon  his  helper's 
face  and  joyed  to  see  it  there  instead  of  the  malevo 
lent  expression  that  had  rested  on  his  rather  hand 
some  features  only  a  short  time  before. 

At  length,  the  sufferer  resting  on  the  other's  breast 
opened  his  wide  eyes  and  gazed  upon  the  crucifix  and 
motioned  that  it  be  brought  nearer  to  his  dying  lips ; 
he  kissed  it,  then,  devoutly,  and  his  deathless  spirit 
passed  to  Him  Who  gave  it  life  at  first. 

Father  Felix  gently  laid  his  body  down  upon  the 
ground  and  placed  the  crucifix  upon  his  cold,  still 
breast,  and,  then,  he  said  to  him  who  watched  it  all 
in  silence: 

"You  see,  Sir,  some  are  happier  to  have  the  cruci 
fix  to  kiss  before  they  go  to  meet  their  Maker;  I 
did  not  know  that  you  felt  as  you  said  you  did 
about  it.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  ...  I  humbly 
beg  your  pardon." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ON  July  17,  1898,  United  States  troops  marched 
into  and  took  possession  of  the  city  of  Santiago, 
thereby  completing  the  assurance  of  independence  to 
Cuba. 

On  that  auspicious  day  Ruth  Wakefield  closed  her 
temporary  hospital  and  turned  over  to  its  new  owner 
the  little  cottage  which  she  had  built  to  shelter  her 
small  family  during  her  stay  near  Santiago ;  with 
tears  of  joy  as  well  as  sorrow,  she  had  said  good-bye 
to  Estrella  and  her  new-found  relatives  who  were 
about  to  return  to  the  home  of  the  latter;  Father 
Felix  had  decided  to  return  to  his  little  flock  at  San 
Domingo  as  he  felt  that  his  work  with  the  army  was 
finished,  so  that,  in  his  company  and  with  old  Mage 
and  Tid-i-wats  safely  ensconced  near  to  her,  she 
sailed  upon  the  first  steamer  going  toward  Havana 
after  there  was  no  longer  need  of  her  help  among 
the  American  soldiers. 

It  was  with  mingled  feelings  of  joy  and  sorrow 
that  she  left  the  scene  of  her  recent  activities  .  .  . 
she  was  carrying  with  her  many  sad  memories  of 
heroism  and  of  suffering  borne  with  patriotic  pa 
tience  .  .  .  her  heart  was  heavy  when  she  reflected 

241 


An  American 

upon  the  horrors  she  had  witnessed,  but  her  spirit 
was  loyal  to  the  sacred  cause  for  which  so  many 
splendid  lives  had  been  sacrificed  .  .  .  she  could  see, 
with  prophetic  vision,  a  happy  and  prosperous  race 
of  people  taking  the  place  of  the  down-trodden  and 
pitiful  company  of  cowering  peasants  with  which 
she  had  been  all  too  familiar  ...  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  could  see  the  smiling  faces  of  many  happy 
children  crowding  along  the  narrow  streets  of  the 
small  villages  of  Cuba  ...  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
could  almost  hear  old  men  relating  the  long-past 
horrors  that  had  been  common  under  the  iron  heel 
of  the  Spanish  oppressor  .  .  .  relating  these  re 
membered  facts  to  those  who  shook  their  heads,  half 
doubtingly,  as  they  listened  to  them. 

Ruth,  herself,  was  looking  forward  with  bright 
anticipation  to  her  return  to  her  own  beloved  home 
.  .  .  dear  to  her,  not  only  because  of  its  intrinsic 
attractiveness,  but  also  because  of  the  precious 
memories  it  held  of  her  parents  whom  she  constantly 
mourned  for  and  kept  alive  within  her  loving  heart ; 
for  so  it  is,  as  I  believe,  that  those  who  are  beyond 
the  earth  yet  live  among  us  who  are  yet  in  human 
form;  I  think  that  those  who  are  made  welcome  in 
the  hearts  of  men  and  women  continue,  often,  their 
stay  within  the  circle  of  humanity;  so  long  as  mor 
tals  remember  and  long  for  them,  so  long  will  they 
care  to  wander  among  the  hills  and  mountains  and 
along  the  pleasant  valleys  and  by  the  oceans  and 


An  American  243 

the  rivers  of  the  earth ;  if  they  should  be  forgotten  by 
all  humanity,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  they 
would  often  wish  to  look  upon  the  moonlight  or  the 
sunlight  of  our  world ;  if  nowhere  in  our  world  their 
spirits  could  find  a  resting-place,  it  seems  to  me 
they  would  not  care  to  stray  among  mortal  men 
and  women. 

Freed  souls,  as  I  believe,  are  not  compelled  to  as 
sociate  with  those  who  are  uncongenial  to  them ;  they 
do  not  have  to  yield  their  finest  taste  and  dearest 
wishes,  as  so  many  mortals  do,  to  what  is  far  be 
neath  them  .  .  .  far  beneath  their  inner  conscious 
ness  of  right  and  wrong.  They  do  not,  as  I  hope, 
just  because  they  made  some  sad  mistake,  go  on 
suffering  for  dreary  years,  as  many  women  have, 
because  they  saw  no  way  of  sure  release  except 
through  death  itself. 

It  is  a  pitiful  but  well-established  fact  that  many 
wives  and  mothers  have  borne  long  years  of  martyr 
dom  because,  in  their  first  youth,  they  made  unfor 
tunate  matrimonial  alliances. 

There  are  so  very  many  ways  to  put  on  binding- 
chains  in  human  life;  there  are  so  many  changes 
common  to  most  mortals,  steadfastness  and  truth  are 
such  rare  qualities,  that  I  sometimes  wonder  how 
men  and  women  manage  even  as  well  as  they  do. 
-  Sometimes,  we  criticize  our  fellow-men  and  fellow- 
women  pretty  harshly,  but,  then,  perhaps,  we  only 
see  one  side,  and  if  we  could  look  down  from  some 


An  American 

great  height,  perhaps  we,  then,  would  marvel  that 
they  do  as  well  as  they  do,  now,  with  human  life. 

There  have  been  those  who  honestly  expected  that, 
when  they  would  leave  their  earthly  tenements,  they 
would  go  to  sleep,  when  they  had  gone  across  the 
unknown  river  that  they  knew  as  death's  cold 
stream,  and,  maybe,  sleep  a  thousand  years  or  so; 
they  must  have  dreaded  that  last,  long  sleep,  espe 
cially  if  they,  as  might  have  happened,  had  never 
been  very  sound  or  very  quiet  sleepers  ...  if  they 
had  always  seemed  to  be  on  guard  and  wakened  at 
the  slightest  unfamiliar  sound  .  .  .  the  thought 
that  they  would  just  lie  silently  within  the  narrow 
grave  they  must  have  known  it  was  intended  they 
should  be  put  in  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant 
one ;  they  must  have  edged  around  it  all  they  could 
and  seldom  mentioned  it  to  anyone  around  them, 
and,  yet,  that  horrid  thought  .  .  .  that  last,  long 
sleep  .  .  .  must  have,  often,  been  present  in  their 
waking  thoughts,  and  must  have,  even,  sometimes, 
haunted  them  in  their  dreams. 

But  I  believe  that  we  go  right  on  living  when  we 
leave  the  earth-plane;  I  believe  that  most  of  us  will 
be  wide  awake  and  conscious  from  the  very  start  of 
that  larger  life  that  we  will,  then,  begin  to  live.  I 
hope  that  we  will  find  that  we  do  not  have  to  sleep 
at  all  unless  we  choose  to  do  so. 

Ruth  Wakefield  kept  the  memories  of  her  parents 
in  her  heart  and  so  she  always  had  them  with  her 


An  American  245 

where  she  went,  and,  now,  that  she  was  going  back 
where  they  and  she  had  spent  so  very  many  happy 
years  together,  it  was  natural  that  she  should  think 
of  them  even  more  than  common ;  a  feeling  of  deep 
sadness  stole  across  her  mind  whenever  she  reflected 
on  her  parents  and  their  home,  somehow;  she  could 
not  account  for  this  at  all  ...  she  could  not  satisfy 
herself  that  she  had  any  real  reason  for  this  feeling 
of  sadness  .  .  .  but  it  would  creep  over  her  in  spite 
of  her  efforts  to  banish  it  from  her  mind ;  old  Mage 
felt  this  and  tried  to  cheer  her  dear  young  lady  up 
.  .  .  little  Tid-i-wats  felt  it  and  rubbed  against  her 
lovingly  and  purred  her  little  happy  song  of  comfort 
and  content  .  .  .  and,  yet,  Ruth  Wakefield  dreaded, 
while  she  longed  for,  her  own  home,  and,  as  the  vessel 
they  were  on  drew  near  to  Havana,  this  feeling  of 
unaccountable  sadness  deepened  with  the  girl  .  .  . 
she  drew  her  breath  in  sharply  and  a  deep  and  heart 
felt  sigh  broke  from  her  lips  as  they  reached  the 
landing-place  and  left  the  wild  and  treacherous 
waters  far  behind  them. 

Father  Felix  wondered  if  this  evident  sadness  and 
dread  were  due,  in  part,  to  the  experiences  through 
which  they  had  both  passed,  and  also,  the  thought 
of  the  man  whom  Ruth  had  married  surreptitiously 
would  often  cross  the  mind  of  the  good  Priest,  for  he 
knew  well  she  often  must  remember  him  and  his  dash 
ing,  dark  and  manly  beauty ;  old  Mage  almost  cursed 
him  in  her  fierce  old  heart  when  she  noticed  that 


246  An  American 

Ruth  was  sad  although  she'd  always  been  so  glad 
to  come  back  home. 

"It's  that  fellow's  fault !"  she  grumbled  to  her 
self.  "It's  all  his  fault  ...  I  hope  he's  good  and 
dead  by  this  time!  I'm  sure  I'd  help  to  make  him 
so,  most  willingly !  What  did  he  want  to  come  into 
her  young  life  and  almost  ruin  it  for?  The  low 
lived  pup !" 

They  started  out,  as  dusk  was  falling,  the  day 
they  reached  Havana,  to  go  to  San  Domingo,  and, 
then,  home;  Father  Felix  went  with  them  as  far  as 
his  refectory,  and  there  he  bade  them  a  cheerful 
good-bye  and  said  he'd  come  up,  soon,  and  see  them 
in  their  home  again. 

Ruth,  somehow,  feared  to  say  good-bye  to  the 
good  Priest  and  kept  his  hand  in  hers  much  longer 
than  was  her  wont  with  any  man  ...  he  was  a  bul 
wark  for  anyone  who  clung  to  him  for  strength  .  .  . 
his  was  a  nature  strong  and  good  and  clean  and 
kind.  .  .  .  Ruth  felt  this  more  than  usually,  that 
evening,  and  dreaded  to  go  on  without  him ;  he 
noticed  this  strange  mood  in  her  and  said  with  cheery 
acquiescence: 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  go  on  up  the  hill  with  you, 
my  Daughter.  I  can  as  well  as  not.  No  one  awaits 
me  except  my  little  choir-boys  and  they  have  man 
aged  a  long  time  without  me.  If  you  will  wait  a 
moment  while  I  look  about  a  bit,  I'll  just  go  on  up 
with  you  and  see  you  nicely  settled  in  your  own  old 


An  American 

place  and  then  I'll  come  back  here  and  settle  down 
myself." 

Suiting  his  actions  to  his  words,  the  good  Priest 
looked  around  and  climbed  the  hill  with  Ruth  and 
her  small  retinue;  the  path  seemed  so  familiar  with 
the  shadows  falling  all  around  it,  that  she  laughed 
and  said  to  Father  Felix : 

"I  am  a  coward,  after  all  ...  afraid  of  friendly 
wind-mills  like  Don  Quixote  .  .  .  having  had  to  do 
so  much  with  Spaniards  may  have  made  me  like 
them  in  some  degree  at  least.  ...  I  wonder  if 
Cervantes  was  afraid,  himself,  of  things  that  no 
one  ought  to  be  afraid  of!  I  wonder  if  Sancho 
Panza  was  afraid,  too  .  .  .  was  Rozinante  .  .  ." 

And,  then,  she  stopped,  for  they  had  reached 
what  had  been,  once,  the  outer  gate  of  her  palatial 
residence;  there  was  no  gate  there  .  .  .  there  was 
no  residence  .  .  .  there  was  no  life  there  ...  it 
was  the  tomb  of  hope  and  home  for  her;  the  dwell 
ing  had  been  razed  completely  ...  in  its  stead 
were  only  smouldering  ruins  ...  all  her  precious 
memories  .  .  .  her  visible  and  tangible  reminders 
of  her  parents  .  .  .  had  been  swept  away  .  .  .  she 
had  paid  an  awful  price  for  helping  those  who  needed 
help  from  her. 

Father  Felix  stood  beside  her  with  his  hand  upon 
*  her  shoulder  ...  he  could  not  say  a  word  of  conso 
lation  or  of  any  sort  of  help  ...  he  was  dumb 
founded  by  it  all;  old  Mage  sunk  down  upon  the 


248  An  American 

ground  and  wept,  and  Tid-i-wats  came  close  to  Ruth 
and  rubbed  against  her  garments;  stooping,  then, 
she  picked  her  little  pet  up  and  held  her  closely 
clasped  within  her  sheltering  arms ;  then  she  went  to 
her  old  nurse  and  said  to  her : 

"Do  not  despair,  my  dear  old  Friend.  God  will 
provide  for  us,  some  way.  This  is  a  dreadful  thing, 
but  we  must  make  the  very  best  of  it  that  we  can 
possibly.  I  will  try  to  think  of  some  way  whereby 
we  may  be  sheltered  for  this  one  night  that  is  before 
us  and  then  I  hope  to  find  some  way  to  rebuild  a  por 
tion  of  the  residence  we  used  to  have  here  on  this 
blessed  spot.  Let's  bear  this,  dear  old  Friend.  Let's 
think  we  gave  our  home  to  save  this  country  for 
the  people  who  inhabit  it  and  may  their  homes  be 
just  as  full  of  peace  and  comfort  and  joy  and  glad 
ness  as  this  one  that  is  gone  has  been  for  all  who 
came  beneath  its  friendly  roof." 

The  Father  Felix  stood  beside  her  and  said : 

"My  Daughter,  come  with  me;  I'll  house  you  all 
for  this  one  night  at  least ;  I'll  find  a  way  tomorrow, 
somehow,  for  you,  so  that  you  may  go  on  in  the  path 
that  you  were  meant  to  walk  in.  My  Daughter,  let 
us  pray  for  guidance  in  this  unexpected  sorrow.  Let 
us  pray." 

They  knelt  there  underneath  the  friendly  stars  and 
the  good  Priest  prayed,  earnestly : 

"Dear,   kind   and  loving  Father,"   then   he   said, 


An  American  249 

"look  down  upon  us  as  we  kneel  before  Thee,  here; 
direct  us  with  Thy  holy  Wisdom,  for  we  falter  and 
are  cast  down  with  the  burden  of  this  day.  Direct 
the  feet  of  her  who  has  been  sorely  stricken,  here, 
tonight;  direct  her  feet  so  that  she  may  go  on  upon 
the  path  that  Thou  hast  pointed  out  to  her.  Help 
her  to  go  on  with  courage  and  devotion  to  the  cause 
for  which  she  has  made  this  great  and  almost  over 
powering  sacrifice.  Help  her  to  show  in  all  her  acts, 
henceforth,  the  same  sweet  resignation  to  Thy  Will 
that  she  has  shown  so  far.  And  help  me,  Father, 
help  Thy  humble  servant  who  is  but  feeble  and  who 
often  fails  in  doing  all  he  should  for  Thee  and  foi 
Thy  children,  help  Thy  humble  and  most  unworthy 
servant  to  stand  as  if  he  were  a  pillar,  so  that  she 
may  lean  upon  him  if  her  courage  falters,  or  if  she 
should  stumble  or  grow  weak  in  walking  in  the  path 
that  she  was  meant  by  Thee  to  walk  upon.  Look 
down  in  mercy  on  Thy  servants  as  we  kneel  before 
Thee  here.  Amen." 

Tid-i-wats  endured  this,  patiently,  until  he  went 
beyond  the  common  run  of  prayers  for  him  when 
they  had  been  together,  then  she  squirmed  and 
twisted  in  Ruth's  arms,  and,  finally,  escaped  her  alto 
gether;  then  old  Mage  corraled  her  and  the  two  of 
them  had  quite  a  little  conversation  on  the  side : 

"You  naughty  little  thing!  You  must  behave 
yourself  and  be  a  nice  little  lady.  Can't  you  see 


250  An  American 

what's  happened  to  us  without  making  us  a  lot  of 
trouble,  too?" 

And  Tid-i-wats  said,  plainly : 

"I'll  do  just  as  I  please,  you  mean  old  thing  you! 
Don't  you  dare  to  hold  me  when  I  want  to  get  away ! 
I'll  show  you  what  my  claws  will  do  to  you,  old  Mage ! 
You  let  me  go  this  minute!" 

Then  she  used  some  language  only  known  to  cats 
and  those  who  know  the  devious  ways  of  little  petted 
cats. 

Then  Ruth  turned  to  her  and  whispered: 

"Little  Dadditts!  Little  Tid-i-wats!  Be  a  nice 
lady,  now  ...  be  a  very  nice  little  lady,  now. 
Dadditts  .  .  .  little  bit  of  Dadditts  .  .  ." 

Then  she  held  her  close  and  tried  to  comfort  her 
and  gain  some  comfort  for  herself,  but  her  tears 
would  come  to  think  how  happy  they  had  always  or 
most  always  been  in  that  fine  home  which  seemed  so 
much  a  part  of  life  to  Ruth  that,  now  that  it  was 
gone  from  her,  life  seemed  a  sordid  and  a  sorry 
thing. 

But  she  went  with  Father  Felix,  quietly,  to  the 
refectory  and  there  they  all  found  comfort  and  re 
freshment,  for  the  good  Priest  always  had  prepared 
himself  to  entertain  some  unexpected  guests,  and, 
with  returning  security  and  peace,  his  parishioners 
had  brought  some  supplies  to  welcome  him  on  his 
return;  so  they  fared  quite  well  considering  what 


An  American  251 

had  met  them  when  they  reached  the  place  where 
Ruth  had  thought  to  find  rest  from  her  arduous 
toil;  instead,  she  had  to  meet  renewed  unrest  and 
many  problems  to  be  solved  in  her  near  future. 


CHAPTER  XX 

WHEN  Ruth  Wakefield  awoke  the  next  morning 
after  her  arrival  in  the  village  of  San  Domingo,  she 
became  conscious  of  her  surroundings  with  a  sud 
den  start;  at  first,  she  scarcely  realized  just  where 
she  was,  for  her  long  trip  on  the  boat  following  her 
strenuous  and  nerve-wracking  labor  of  the  past  few 
weeks,  had  left  her  very  weary  in  mind  as  well  as 
in  body,  so  that  her  sleep  had  been  profound  and 
restful;  she  looked  about  her  wonderingly  and  did 
not  recognize  anything  near  to  her  except  little 
Tid-i-wats  who  was  cuddled  up  in  a  little  soft  round 
ball  right  beside  her  pillow;  then,  from  the  adjoining 
room,  she  began  to  hear  old  Mage,  who  was,  evi 
dently^  making  her  customary  strenuous  efforts  to 
continue  her  slumbers. 

Gradually,  Ruth  remembered  the  desolation  to 
which  she  had  returned,  and,  hastily  dressing,  she  left 
the  refectory  intending  to  go  at  once  to  the  spot 
where  her  much-loved  home  had  been,  and  ascertain, 
under  the  light  of  day,  the  extent  of  her  loss,  also, 
she  wished  to  make  some  plans,  while  she  could  do 
so  quietly  and  unobserved,  as  to  the  future  of  her 

252 


An  American  253 

little  family,  who,  as  it  seemed,  was  now  without  a 
roof  to  shelter  them. 

She  slowly  and  cautiously  ascended  the  hill ;  the 
pathway  was  almost  obliterated  by  the  growth  of  the 
wild  things  that  had  been  allowed  to  run  riot  over 
it  and  she  followed  it  more  by  instinct  than  any 
thing  else;  as  she  gained  the  point  from  which  the 
proud  edifice  she  had  so  loved  used  to  become  visible 
to  anyone  approaching  it,  the  fact  that  no  buildings 
of  any  kind  were  in  sight  pressed  upon  her  inner 
consciousness,  and  it  was  only  with  great  effort  that 
she  proceeded  at  all ;  somehow,  she  had  hoped,  she 
now  found,  that  the  hasty  survey  they  had  made  the 
night  before  might  have  been  overdrawn  in  some 
respects  and  the  corroboration  of  her  worst  fears 
was  hard  for  her  to  bear;  but  she  had  become  ac 
customed,  from  long  endurance,  to  meet  whatever 
came  with  calmness  and  courage ;  so  she  straightened 
her  slim,  tall  figure  to  its  full  height,  and  advanced 
with  the  air  of  a  soldier  marching  forth  to  meet  the 
foe. 

She  had  passed  the  spot  where  the  entrance  gates 
had  been ;  the  pillars  on  either  side  of  the  entrance 
were  almost  entirely  demolished  and  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  of  the  gates  themselves ;  all  along 
the  driveway  debris  was  piled  in  disordered  heaps ; 
evidently,  no  one  had  been  here,  or  so  it  seemed  at  a 
first  glance,  anyway,  for  some  time;  vegetation  had 
even  partially  covered  a  part  of  the  ruins  of  the 


An  American 

dwelling  itself;  with  repeated  gasps  of  horror,  she 
ran  from  what  had  been  the  front  entrance  to  her 
home  to  first  one  side  and  then  the  other;  finally, 
she  sat  down,  disconsolately,  like  Niobe,  amid  the 
ruins  of  her  former  happiness ;  she  knew  that  she  was 
where  her  library  had  been;  here  she  had  found  her 
most  satisfying,  lasting  happiness,  surrounded  as  she 
had  been  by  the  books  she  had  loved ;  she  could  see  the 
half-burned  remains  of  many  of  her  favorites  lying 
all  around  her;  thinking  to  save  some  portion  of 
one  of  these,  she  picked  it  up,  fondly,  and  laid  it  in 
her  lap,  while  she  bent  over  it  searching  for  some 
word  of  comfort  or  some  sustaining  sentence;  it 
seemed  to  her  that  some  of  the  authors  she  had  so 
dearly  loved  and  almost  reverenced,  would  surely 
come  to  her  aid  in  this  dire  calamity  ...  it  almost 
seemed  to  her  as  if  one  or  more  of  them  would  ac 
tually  speak  to  her  in  such  a  way  as  to  impress  her 
mind  with  their  fine  thoughts. 

Suddenly,  she  became  conscious  of  the  nearness  of 
some  human  being;  looking  up,  surprised  and  even 
alarmed,  she  beheld  the  man  whose  life  she  had  been 
instrumental  in  saving  after  the  battle  of  San  Juan 
Hill. 

"Tender  Heart,"  he  said,  softly,  "Tender  Heart, 
what  have  we  here?  Why  are  you  so  sad?  You 
came  to  me  in  grievous  trouble  and  I,  it  seems,  have 
found  you  under  similar  circumstances.  Tender 


An  American  255 

Heart,"  he  pleaded,  "Tender  Heart,  let  me  help  you 
as  you  helped  me  if  I  can  do  so." 

She  turned  and  looked  into  his  eyes  .  .  .  she  rose 
to  her  feet  and  took  one  hesitating  step  toward  him 
.  .  .  she  stretched  out  both  her  hands,  and,  some 
how,  then,  she  felt  his  strong  arms  fold  themselves 
around  her  yielding  form  .  .  .  she  felt  his  heart  beat 
very  near  to  hers  .  .  .  she  felt  his  lips  against  her 
hair  .  .  .  and,  then,  she  turned  her  face  from  his 
broad  shoulder  where  it  had  found  a  resting-place, 
and,  as  her  lips  met  his,  it  seemed  to  her  that,  after 
all,  she  had  come  home;  a  feeling  of  deep  security 
and  sweet  peace  crept  over  her: 

"Tender  Heart,"  he  murmured  very  near  to  her 
small,  shell-like  ear,  for  she  had,  once  more,  put  her 
head  against  his  shoulder,  "Tender  Heart,  you  do 
not  know  my  name.  ...  I  am,  to  you,  but  one  of 
those  five  men  who  volunteered,  at  once,  to  follow 
Teddy  up  San  Juan  Hill.  ...  I  am,  to  you,  but  only 
him  you  rescued  from  almost  certain  death  upon  that 
bloody  battle-field.  Are  you  sure  you  are  not  mak 
ing  a  mistake,  sweet,  trusting  Tender  Heart,  to  grant 
me  this  great  privilege,  knowing  as  little  of  me  as 
you  do?" 

He  waited  for  her  answer,  for  some  time,  but,  then, 
he  waited  willingly  indeed,  for  her  soft  nearness  was 
enough  to  make  him  very  happy;  when  her  answer 
came  she  spoke  in  such  low  tones  he  had  to  listen 


256  An  American 

very  closely  ...  he  had  to  put  his  arms  about  her 
a  little  closer  than  they  had  been  yet  ...  he  had 
to  lift  her  from  the  ground  and  bring  her  soft,  red 
mouth  upon  a  level  with  his  head,  indeed  .  .  .  and. 
then,  he  heard  her  say: 

"I  know  you  just  as  well  as  you  know  me.  We  do 
not  know  each  other's  names  .  .  .  we  do  not  need  to 
know  them  .  .  .  now  ...  I  only  know  I  love  you, 
Dear  .  .  .  and,  now,  I  know  that  you  love  me." 

And,  then,  he  set  her  feet  upon  the  ground  again 
and  looked  down  into  her  clear,  gray  eyes,  and  found 
within  their  shining  depths  the  very  things  he  wanted 
most  to  know ;  and  she  looked  up  and  saw  a  man  who 
was  a  man  indeed  ...  a  man  on  whom  she  knew  that 
she  could  lean  ...  a  man  whom  she  would  love  to 
walk  beside  ...  a  man  of  whom  she  could  be  always 
proud. 

Standing  there,  they  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes 
and  read  their  future  in  them  .  .  .  read  the  happi 
ness  that  they  might  know  together  on  the  earth, 
and,  then,  they  saw  beyond  the  chance  and  change 
that  seem  to  to  govern  earthly  things,  and  saw 
themselves  together  in  some  higher,  better  sphere. 
They  plainly  saw,  there,  in  each  other's  eyes,  the 
promise  of  another,  more  etherial  world,  where  they 
might  spend  long  ages  of  eternal  joy  and  gladness  in 
each  other's  company. 

Father  Felix  found  them  so,  for  he  had  followed 
Ruth  to  see  if  he  could  help  her  meet  the  problems 


An  American  257 

that  confronted  her;  the  good  Priest  hesitated  for 
only  a  moment  before  he  said: 

"My  Daughter,  I  trust  that  you  have  found  true 
happiness.  Sir,  I  do  not  know  you  very  well,  but 
I  can  give  you  most  profound  assurance  that  you 
have  found  a  jewel  among  women;  if  she  has  any 
faults  I  have  not  found  them,  yet,  and  I  have  spent 
full  many  happy  hours  in  her  society;  my  work  is 
to  find  faults,  if  so  be  I  can  trace  them  out;  I  am 
a  hunter,  and  a  most  successful  one,  of  human  frail- 
ities,  and,  when  I  give  you  my  most  profound  as 
surance  that  I  have  not  found  a  fault  in  this  one 
woman,  the  statement  is  worthy  of  respect. 

"Your  coming  at  this  time  is  most  propitious,  for 
I  was  almost  at  my  wit's  end  as  to  how  to  help  her 
bear  the  direful  calamity  that  has  just  come  upon 
her.  She  has  not  remembered  half  she's  lost,  and, 
now  that  she  has  found  you,  Sir,  I  trust  that  she 
will  nevermore  remember  much  of  it,  but  that  she 
will  go  on,  with  you  beside  her,  leaving  far  behind 
her  in  her  earthly  path  sad  memories  of  happy  days 
that  nevermore  can  come  to  her." 

The  man,  then,  gave  to  Father  Felix  his  right 
hand  and  kept  his  left  arm  round  Ruth's  slender 
waist : 

"I  do  not  doubt  your  word,"  he  answered  the  good 
Priest.  "I  feel  that  every  single  word  of  what  you've 
said  is  strictly  true,  and,  yet,  I  have  some  fault  to 
find  with  this  young  lady,  here;  she  came  away  and 


258  An  American 

did  not  leave  a  message  behind  for  me,  and  I  have 
had  a  weary,  most  disheartening  time  since  she  de 
parted.  I  came  to  San  Domingo,  I  traced  her  that 
far,  easily,  and,  then,  I  found  a  little  girl  named 
Tessa  something,  who  said  she  knew  the  very  place 
to  find  her  in  ...  she  said  she  knew  she'd  go  where, 
once,  the  mansion  on  the  hill  had  stood  .  .  .  and, 
so,  I  came  straight  here,  and,  so,  I've  found  her. 
Tender  Heart,"  he  asked,  "have  you  told  the  good 
Priest  how  we  met?" 

Then  Ruth  blushed  her  pretty,  fleeting,  charac 
teristic  little  blush,  and  said : 

"Father  Felix  knows  me  even  better  than  I  know 
myself,  for  he  has  told  me  many  times  what  I  would 
do  before  I  did  it.  Father  Felix  knows  me  better, 
even,  that  you  do,"  then  she  turned  to  Father  Felix, 
laughing  like  a  happy  little  child,  and  added,  "He 
don't  even  know  my  name  and  I  have  no  idea  what  his 
is ;  he  calls  me  Tender  Heart  because  I  am  so  easily 
misled  by  tenderness  and  I  call  him  .  .  .  why,  I  have 
never  called  him  anything  at  all." 

"Yes,  you  have!"  he  interrupted,  eagerly.  "You 
called  me  'Dear'  just  now  ...  so  she  is  Tender 
Heart  and  I  am  Dear  and  that's  enough,  I  think, 
don't  you?" 

The  good  Priest  smiled  upon  them  almost  conde 
scendingly,  for  he  was  far  above  such  little  human 
twists  and  turns,  or  so  he  seemed  to  be  at  least, 


An  American  259 

and  so  he  was  in  very  truth,  for  he  had  had  his 
romance  ...  he  had  seen  the  grave  close  over  the 
bright  curls  of  one  he  dearly  loved  who  loved  him 
just  as  dearly  as  he  did  her;  it  was  after  that  that 
he  had  taken  up  the  work  he  did  so  well ;  he  left  his 
human  happiness  behind  him  in  that  narrow  grave 
and  looked  beyond  it  to  a  higher,  better  kind  of  hap 
piness  ;  Ruth  knew  a  little  of  this  romantic  sorrow 
for  the  good  Priest  had  imparted  it  to  her,  and,  so. 
her  tender  eyes  filled  up  with  sudden  tears  and  her 
low,  sweet  voice  trembled  into  even  softer  cadences 
than  usual  as  she  said: 

"Dear  Father  Felix,  you  are  more  to  me  than  any 
loving  brother  that  a  woman  ever  had  .  .  .  you  are 
the  only  one  who  ever  understood  my  human  sor 
row  and  I  think  that  you  will  fully  understand  my 
human  happiness.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  you 
could  be  as  happy  as  we  are,"  her  fair  face  flushed 
again,  "for  you  deserve  far  more  of  happiness  than 
I  do  .  .  .as  for  him,"  she  added,  archly,  "as  for 
him  ...  do  not  be  too  sure  of  perfect  human  hap 
piness  for  him.  ...  I  am  but  a  mere  child  in  very 
many  ways  ...  I  have  so  very  much  to  learn  .  .  . 
I'm  sure  I'll  always  do  the  very  best  I  can,  but 
whether  that  will  be  the  very  best  that  could  be  done, 
of  course  I  do  not  know." 

"I'll  risk  it,  anyway,  and  I  will  risk  it  gladly,  joy 
fully,"  the  man  averred.  "I'd  go  again  upon  that 


260  An  American 

bloody  battle-field  if  you'd  be  sure  to  find  me,  Tender 
Heart,"  he  ended,  "if  only  in  that  way  we  two  were 
meant  to  meet." 

When  Ruth  went  back  to  the  refectory  she  found 
old  Mage  and  Tid-i-wats  as  lively  as  two  crickets 
and  as  cheery  as  could  be  ...  she  introduced  the 
man  whose  life  she'd  saved,  or  so  it  seemed,  to  them, 
and  each  of  them  acknowledged  the  introduction  in 
her  own  peculiar  way;  old  Mage  stared  at  the  man 
and  sized  him  up  most  shrewdly,  and,  then,  she  gave 
her  verdict  very  plainly  by  her  manner  of  addressing 
him: 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you,  Sir,"  she  said.  "I'm  surely 
very  glad  to  see  you  for  I've  often  heard  my  dear 
young  lady  speak  of  you ;  I  hope  you'll  stay  around 
here  near  to  us  for  we  will  have  another  home  to 
build  and  Tid-i-wats  and  I  are  not  much  help  to 
her.  .  .  .  I'm  growing  to  be  an  old  woman,  now,  and 
Tid-i-wats  is  so  peculiar  that  she  never  is  much  help 
to  anyone." 

And,  then,  the  little  cat  came  close  to  him  and 
smelled  his  hands  and  rubbed  against  his  legs,  and, 
finally,  when  he  sat  down,  she  jumped  up  in  his  lap 
and  settled  down  and  twisted  round  and  licked  her 
self  and  washed  her  face  and  made  herself  entirely  at 
home ;  and  then  she  looked  up  at  old  Mage  and  Ruth 
and  whispered  to  them  that  she  liked  him  very  well 
indeed,  and,  so,  he  was  adopted  into  that  small 
family. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AN  author  who  has  been  considered  by  very  many 
people  to  be  a  most  successful  writer,  one  whose 
words  have  set  before  very  many  eyes  vivid  pictures 
of  individual  characteristics  and  national  events  as 
well,  whose  Indians  are  known  all  over  the  world, 
and  whose  historical  novels  will  be  eagerly  perused 
as  long  as  there  are  American  eyes  to  read  the  pages 
of  any  book  at  all,  used  to  make  a  sort  of  summary 
of  the  principal  events  in  the  lives  of  his  very  inter 
esting  characters :  it  always  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  something  very  wholesome  and  satisfying  in 
the  way  he  finished  up  his  books,  and,  so,  I'd  like  to 
relate  just  a  little  more  about  the  people  I  have  tried 
to  picture  in  this  little  book  of  mine. 

Ruth  Wakefield  found  her  earthly  mate  when  she 
found  him  whose  life  she  helped  to  save  upon  the 
battle-field  at  night,  and  spent  full  many  happy 
years  in  his  society ;  they  built  a  modern  home  upon 
the  site  of  the  mansion  on  the  hill  and  did  much 
good  among  the  peasants  living  near  to  them;  the 
'man  became  the  author  of  very  many  books,  and 
Ruth  assisted  him  in  very  many  ways. 

Old  Mage  and  little  Tid-i-wats  lived  out  the  span, 
261 


262  An  American 

of  earthly  life  allotted  to  each  one  of  them,  beneath 
the  tender  eye  and  ready  hand  of  her  who  loved  them 
both,  and,  when  the  time  that  had  been  set  for  them 
to  leave  this  world  behind  them,  came,  Ruth  Wake- 
field  staid  beside  them  to  the  very  last,  and  minis- 
.tered  to  them  as  no  one  else  would  ever  do. 

The  man  she'd  found  had  named  her  well  when  he 
said  "Tender  Heart!"  to  her,  that  night  upon  the 
battle-field. 

Her  heart  was  very  tender,  always,  except  with 
reference  to  herself;  she  often  did  upbraid  herself 
and  never  gave  herself  much  credit;  she  often 
mourned,  in  secret,  over  her  few  brief  memories  of 
the  wild,  impulsive,  almost  insane,  so-called  love  of 
him  she'd  married  in  her  untried  youth;  she  often 
said: 

"Poor  Boy!  Poor,  lost  and  misled  Boy!  I 
ought  to  have  treated  him  far  differently  than  I  did ; 
his  earthly  path  crossed  mine  for  some  good  reason, 
I  presume;  and  I  did  not  do  all  the  things  I  might 
have  done,  when  I  was  near  enough  to  help  him,  for 
him  .  .  .  yet  ..."  she  always  ended,  "I  did  the 
very  best  I  could  do  for  him,  it  seemed  to  me,  at 
the  time  I  had  the  opportunity,  and  I  always  meant 
and  prayed  to  do  just  right.  I  went  wrong,  some 
how  .  .  .  or  he  had  gone  too  far  along  a  certain 
road  before  I  ever  met  him  for  me  to  turn  him  back 
.  .  .  anyway,  I  pity  him  with  all  my  heart  and  hope 
that  he  is  happy  where  he's  gone  ...  I  hope  he's 


An  American  263 

found  the  very  place  he  belongs  in.  ...  I  know  I 
always  think  of  him  with  tender  pity  and  no  resent 
ment,  although,  according  to  the  standards  of  the 
world,  he  did  me  grievous  wrong.  Poor  lost  and  mis 
led  Boy !  He  often  looked  so  sad  and  desperate  .  .  . 
I  wish  I  had  done  better  by  him  while  I  had  the 
chance." 

Her  tender  heart  was  uppermost  in  almost  all  she 
did  except  when  she  was  doing  for  herself,  and,  then, 
she'd  say: 

"My  tastes  are  very  simple  .  .  .  I  do  not  need 
very  much  of  this  world's  goods  ...  it  takes  so 
very  little  happiness  to  make  me  almost  wild  with 
joy.  .  .  .  I've  had  to  look  on  sorrow  often,  and. 
when  I  come  to  Joy,  I  bask  in  it  as  if  it  were  God's 
holy  sunshine." 

But,  if  it  should  be  that  old  Mage  or  Tid-i-wats 
or  anyone  of  all  of  those  who  were  dependent  on 
her,  from  time  to  time,  for  she,  somehow  always 
seemed  to  accumulate  those  who  needed  her  help 
round  her,  why,  then  it  was  quite  different  to  Ten 
der  Heart  .  .  .  then,  she'd  say  and  say  with  vigor 

"Of  course  I  can  arrange  to  have  it  that  way! 
Why,  certainly,  if  that  would  bring  happiness,  I'll 
fix  it  right  away." 

And  sure  enough  she  would  arrange  it,  no  matter 
what  it, meant  for  her  of  loneliness  or  labor  ...  no 
matter  if  she  had  to  go  along  a  lonely  road  that  had 
been  full  of  peace  and  happiness  for  her  before  the 


264  An  American 

one  who  left  her  lonely  had  come  into  her  daily 
life  and  made  it  hard  for  her,  in  that  way,  while  the 
days  were  going  by,  yet  made  a  grievous  change 
again,  in  going;  she  set  her  teeth  and  did  the  things 
she  had  to  do  to  make  the  other  person  happy,  or  to 
do  the  things  he  said  would  make  him  happy,  then  she 
turned  her  face  toward  her  own  life,  cheerfully,  al 
though  her  hours  were  often  very  sad  and  lonely. 

But  this  was  all  before  she  met  the  man  whose  life 
she'd  helped  to  save  upon  that  battle-field  ...  all 
before  she'd  lost  her  cherished  home  and  built  an 
other  one.  From  that  time  on  unto  the  end  of 
earthly  life  for  her,  she  found  sweet  satisfaction 
and  content,  for  she  had  found  a  steadfast  love  to 
lean  upon,  a  strong  and  true  and  virile  human  being, 
whose  tastes  were  similar  to  hers,  who  loved  his  native 
land,  America,  with  all  his  heart,  as  she  did,  too. 

It  heartens  all  humanity  to  meet  a  happy  pair  who 
are  congenial. 

It  gives  all  other  human  beings  courage  to  go  on 
upon  the  path  that  has  been  set  for  them  to  go  upon, 
to  know  that  there  is  happiness  if  only  they  could 
find  the  way  to  reach  it. 

Estrella  soon  forgot  the  handsome  lover  over  whom 
she  mourned  so  bitterly ;  the  memory  of  him  soon 
became  a  wild,  sweet  dream,  and  had  she  met  him 
as  he  was  in  San  Domingo,  after  she  had  found  her 
proper  place  in  life,  it  is  probable  that  she  would 
have  turned  away  from  him ;  life's  contrasts  have  so 


An  American  265 

much  to  do  with  early  love  that  it  is  often  difficult 
to  know  what  love  is  really  like;  Estrella,  when  she 
was  an  unknown  waif,  was  differently  placed  than 
she  was  later  on.  Victorio  Colenzo  would  not  have 
seemed  the  same  to  her  that  he  did  when  she  was  but 
an  unknown,  simple  girl;  education  made  a  change 
in  her  .  .  .  her  sister  looked  to  that.  She  grew  to 
be  a  splendid  woman,  in  very  many  ways,  and  mar 
ried  one  who  was  her  peer. 

Poor  little  Tessa  seems  the  most  forlorn  of  all 
the  characters  in  this  book.  She  tried  so  hard  and 
failed  so  utterly  in  almost  all  she  ever  did.  But 
Father  Felix  watched  her  tenderly,  and  helped  her 
on,  and,  finally,  one  day,  he  married  her  to  one  who 
loved  her  truly  in  his  own  rude  way,  to  one  who 
was  a  sturdy  peasant  like  herself,  who  had  no 
romance  in  him,  but  who  was  true  to  her,  and  kind, 
as  kindness  goes  among  his  sort  of  people;  he  pro 
vided  for  her  and  their  children ;  she  had  many  more 
necessities  and  even  luxuries  than  most  of  those 
who  were  associated  with  her.  She,  sometimes, 
dreamed  of  Manuello ;  she  never  knew  how  his  life 
ended. 

Ruth  Wakeleld  looked  her  up,  from  time  to  time, 
but  did  not  tell  her  very  much  about  the  Spanish- 
American  war  or  those  who  entered  into  it;  she 
knew  she  could  not  really  understand  much  more 
than  would  the  helpless  baby  at  her  ample  breast, 
for  Tessa  did  not  stay  the  slim,  small  persons  that 


266  An  American 

she  was  at  first;  she  grew  to  be  as  wide,  almost,  as 
she  was  tall,  and  seemed  to  be  quite  happy  as  she 
was.  She  always  limped  a  little  from  the  blow  that 
Manuello  gave  to  her;  the  deep,  sad  scar  he  left 
upon  her  gentle  heart  could  not  be  seen,  and  it, 
somehow,  grew  over  as  her  flesh  and  family  increased. 

Estrella  always  remembered  her  and  sent  her 
many  costly  and  curious  things  which  were  her  con 
stant  delight.  She  loved  to  display  these  mementoes 
of  her  girlhood's  friend ;  her  children,  and  her  heavy 
husband,  too,  were,  always  proud  of  them. 

It  seems  to  me  that,  when  such  souls  as  animated 
little  Tessa's  form  leave  this  world  behind  them  for 
all  time,  it  must  be  that  they  find  some  soft,  warm 
places,  where  they  can  sit  at  ease  and  watch  dear 
little  children  play,  and,  maybe,  join  them  in  their 
play,  and  dream  of  happy  hours,  and  forget  all  the 
trials  of  their  lives  upon  the  earth. 

The  course  of  human  life  will,  sometimes,  like  a 
placid  river,  flow  along  for  many  years  without  a 
single  change  that  is  any  more  disturbing  than  a 
little,  gentle  ripple  or  an  easy  turn;  then,  all  at 
once,  like  the  water,  that  has  been  so  clear  and  still, 
when  it  has  reached  the  rapids  and  becomes  a  rag 
ing,  turbid  torrent,  so  human  life  may,  suddenly,  be 
stirred  to  its  very  depths ;  something  may  transpire 
that  will  call  for  the  most  sublime  courage  and  the 
most  strenuous  endeavor,  combined  with  the  most 
harrowing  self-sacrifice. 


An  American  267 

Like  a  stroke  of  lightning  out  of  a  calm  summer 
sky,  more  than  one  great  event  in  our  national  his 
tory  has  thrust  itself  upon  our  startled  conscious 
ness.  At  these  times,  leaders  have  appeared  who 
have  taken  their  places  at  the  head  of  affairs  as 
naturally  and  as  calmly  as  if  they  had  been,  always, 
guiding  those  who  followed  after  them,  although, 
perhaps,  before  the  time  that  they  were  needed,  they 
were,  comparatively,  unknown.  And  so,  it  seems 
to  me,  it  will  be  always.  There  is  a  Plan,  an  infinite, 
a  just,  a  universal  Plan,  to  which  all  things,  mundane 
or  otherwise,  must,  in  the  end,  conform.  To  keep 
ourselves  informed  as  to  the  part  that  we  were  meant 
to  take  in  this  great  Plan,  it  seems  to  me,  should  be 
our  constant  study  and  our  constant  strong  desire 

The  light  of  truth  and  understanding,  that  is 
God's  Smile,  looks  up  into  our  faces  from  the  heart 
of  every  flower,  whether  bathed  in  moonlight,  or 
shining  underneath  the  sun ;  the  simplest  soul  or  the 
grandest  intellect,  alike,  may  bask  bneneath  this 
light  and  feel  its  healing  power. 

I  love,  above  all  else,  the  God  of  truth  and  right 
and  justice,  Who  rules  all  worlds  and  watches  over 
everything  that  lives  and  moves  and  has  its  being 
in  His  whole  universe. 

It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  implanted,  although 
it  may  be  completely  covered  up,  at  times,  in  the 
nature  of  every  human  being,  a  reverence  and  a  most 
affectionate  regard,  that  rests  upon  implicit  faith, 


268  An  American 

for  Him  Who  gave  to  us,  at  the  very  beginning  of 
of  our  human  lives,  an  infallible  guide  .  .  .  con 
science,  or  inner  consciousness  of  right  and  wrong 
.  .  .  which,  if  always  heeded,  will  show  us  where 
to  go  and  what  to  do,  no  matter  what  vicissitudes, 
disappointments  or  sorrows  we  may  meet. 

And,  next  to  God,  it  seems  to  me,  it  is  both  na 
tural  and  right  to  love  the  land  of  one's  nativity. 

I  know  I  hold  in  my  regard,  above  all  personal 
advantages,  above  all  temporal  happiness  or  praise, 
America  .  .  .  the  great  United  States  .  .  .  that  one 
fair  land  whose  single  boast  has  always  been  that  it 
was  free. 


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